LITTLE  IDYLS  J 

B!GWORL:D  M5CRACKANI 


LITTLE    IDYLS    OF   THE 
BIG   WORLD 


.  / 


UMf.  er 


CALIF.  UBBARTi.  W>S  \»0»** 


THE    CAMl'At'.NA —  ROME. 


LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE 
BIG   WORLD 

BY 

W.  D.  McCRACKAN,  M.  A. 

AUTHOR    OF    "the    RISE    OF    THE    SWISS     REPUBLIC" 

"romance  and  teutonic    SWITZERLAND" 

ETC.,   ETC. 


BOSTON 

JOSEPH    KNIGHT    COMPANY 

1895 


Copyright,  1895, 
By  Joseph  Knight  Company. 


Printed  by  C.  H.  Simonds  &  Co. 
Boston,  U.  S.  A, 


BEING  A  FEW  WORLD  PROBLEMS: 
STATED,  BUT  NOT  SOLVED;  SOME 
HUMAN  DOCUMENTS  UNROLLED; 
AND  SOME  SIGHTS  THAT  SUGGEST. 


2131445 


CONTENTS. 


I.  PONTIFEX    MaXIMUS 

II.  That  Little  Neapolitan  Lie 

III.  A  Riot  in  Rome    . 

IV.  The  Angels  of  the  Baptistery 
V.  A  Woman  of  Paris 

VI.  On  the  French  Frontier   . 

VII.  Jeanne  d'Arc's  Land    . 

VIII.  The  Germania 

IX.  A  Sunday  in  Vienna    . 

X.  The  Sultan's  Prayer  . 

XI.  Dancing  Dervishes 

XII.  From  Smyrna  to  Ephesus  . 

XIII.  Ali,  the  Brigand 

XIV.  A  Train  of  Camels 

XV.  The  Goatherd  of  Priene   . 

XVI.  HiERAPOLis,  the  Holy 

XVII.  Their  Golden  Wedding 

XVIII.  At  the  Manoeuvres 

XIX.  Self-Government 

XX.  Hoeing  Potatoes  . 


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^73 


LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE 
BIG   WORLD. 

I. 

PONTIFEX   MAXIMUS. 

A  RUMOR  had  gone  abroad  that  the 
Pope  was  to  officiate  in  St.  Peter's  at 
the  mass  for  the  dead  on  All  Saints'  Day. 
The  spectacle  was  sufficiently  rare  to  send 
all  Rome  pouring  over  the  bridge  of  St. 
Angelo  to  see  Leo  XIII.  break  through 
that  thin  crust  of  fiction  which  makes  him 
a  prisoner  in  the  Vatican. 

There  was  unwonted  animation  on  the 
piazza.  Bernini's  curving  colonnades,  usu- 
ally deserted,  were  thronged  with  sight- 
seers. The  two  fountains  were  playing, 
and  with  every  puff  of  wind  sprinkled  an 
eager  crowd  that  filed  in  thin  lines  towards 
the  steps.     Cabs  rattled  across  the  paved 


2         LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

piazza  to  leave  their  occupants  under  the 
fa9ade.  The  ugly  accumulation  of  build- 
ings which  constitute  the  Vatican,  that  non- 
descript growth  of  many  centuries,  loomed 
into  a  sky  of  tender  blue.  But  the  mon- 
ster dome  dominated  everything,  placid 
and  full-fed,  like  a  gilded  idol,  sitting  se- 
renely upon  its  massive  substructure. 

As  the  faithful  mounted  the  steps  in  the 
light  of  the  sun,  and  entered  within,  they 
seemed  to  disappear  into  a  dark,  insatiable 
maw,  from  which  there  could  be  no  return. 

Behind  the  leather  curtains  of  St.  Peter's 
there  is  a  climate  which  knows  neither 
winter  nor  summer.  Its  atmosphere  is  as 
unvarying  as  that  of  some  island  on  a 
southern  sea,  —  soothing,  full  of  genial 
caress.  Its  day  is  toned  to  twilight,  and 
its  night  holy  with  unquenched  candles. 

As  I  entered,  the  place  was  full  of  small 
echoes  that  came  from  the  moving  of 
chairs,  the  footfalls  of  men  in  cassocks,  or 
the  occasional  closing  of  a  chapel  door. 
There  were  murmurs  of  distant  prayers,  of 


PONTIFEX    MAXIMUS.  3 

sudden  "  Aniens  !  "  on  the  organ,  or  chants 
in  monotone.  The  sibilants,  which  are  al- 
ways heard  in  churches,  struck  upon  the  ear 
from  all  sides,  and  the  very  whisperings  of 
the  confessional  seemed  hovering  in  the  air. 
All  these  sounds  were  caught  up  by  the 
dome,  and  thence  re-echoed,  tempered  into 
a  musing  harmony.  Ah,  the  immensity 
which  was  suggested  by  this  strange  mu- 
sical quality !  It  was  more  convincing 
than  all  the  statistics  of  measurement. 

Cherubs  sported  on  the  pillars,  or  grouped 
themselves  into  medallions,  —  delicious  cre- 
ations full  of  joy  and  mischief,  who  alone 
served  to  mitigate  the  essential  vulgarity 
of  the  prevailing  decoration.  For  what 
could  exceed  the  burlesque  of  the  statues, 
betraying  the  decay  of  art  ?  Heroic  proph- 
ets, standing  in  theatrical  attitudes,  their 
garments  hanging  in  unnatural  folds,  or  on 
the  tombs  the  voluptuous  figures  of  women, 
grinning  skulls,  and  popes,  knowing-look- 
ing and  wordly-wise.  Bernini's  baldachino 
rose  in  costly  vandalism  above  the  main 


4         LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

altar,  and  at  the  extremity  of  the  chapel 
there  was  a  grotesque  glory  of  gilded 
plaster.  But  even  this  plaid  of  mosaic  de- 
tail could  not  rob  St.  Peter's  of  its  magnifi- 
cent lines,  which,  in  the  aggregate,  produce 
an  impression  of  vastness,  at  first  unsus- 
pected, but  gradually  creeping  into  the 
soul,  never  to  depart. 

While  I  waited  in  the  church,  the  Vati- 
can was  swarming  like  a  hive. 

All  grades  of  the  Roman  hierarchy  had 
sent  representatives ;  all  the  orders,  in 
their  multi-colored  cowls,  were  there ;  emis- 
saries from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  to  wait 
upon  the  holy  father ;  country  clergymen, 
coming  like  Luther,  all  reverence,  into  the 
realms  of  intrigue ;  glib  771011  sig?2 ore,  who 
proselyte  among  the  visiting  nobility,  and 
haunt  the  hotels  for  converts ;  monks 
sworn  to  poverty,  bronzed  and  bearded ; 
priests  with  the  stamp  of  holy  living  on 
their  faces ;  secret  spies,  money  lenders, 
and    political    advisers ;    missionaries    and 


PONTIP^EX    MAXIiMUS.  5 

chaplains ;  men  fresh  from  the  benedic- 
tions of  their  parishes,  or  debauched  b)' 
crimes  begun  at  the  confessional  or  in  the 
flattery  of  the  drawing-room.  Pages,  clad 
in  scarlet,  hurried  through  the  passages  in 
the  service  of  the  cardinals. 

In  the  cells  of  that  mighty  hive  there 
was  feasting  and  praying,  fasting  and 
blaspheming ;  for  aspirations  and  infamies, 
which  were  to  affect  the  world,  were  being 
concocted,  and  the  representative  of  the 
Nazarene  Carpenter  was  crying  aloud  for 
kingly  power. 

And  all  the  time  the  Swiss  guard  watched 
by  the  portals.  They  looked  theatrical, 
and  just  a  little  foolish,  in  the  costume  of 
red,  black  and  yellow  designed  by  Mich- 
ael Angelo.  The  deliberate  guttural  of 
their  speech  contrasted  strangely  with  the 
soft  Italian  of  their  environment ;  and,  in- 
deed, they  stood  there  somewhat  shame- 
faced, as  the  only  survivors  of  that  mer- 
cenary system  which,  in  the  Middle  Ages, 
sapped   the    national    life   of    Switzerland, 


6         LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

and  made  her  the  prey  of  bribing  ambass- 
adors. 

But  the  time  had  come.  An  impatient 
crowd  awaited  the  entry  of  the  Pontiff  into 
St.  Peter's,  with  apprehension  growing, 
lest  they  be  cheated  of  the  promised  spec- 
tacle. 

There  was  heard  a  loud  clanging,  as 
the  iron  gate  of  a  chapel  was  thrown 
open,  and  a  train  of  vested  ecclesiastics 
issued  into  the  church,  and  moved  towards 
the  main  altar.  But  their  magnificence 
was  as  nothing  to  what  followed,  for 
suddenly  there  came  a  hoarse  command, 
and  the  papal  guard  presented  arms  to 
the  divinity  of  the  place.  He  came,  borne 
upon  the  shoulders  of  the  faithful  in  his 
sedia,  covered  with  a  silken  canopy. 

Hail,  Pontifex  Maximus  !  Ruler  of  the 
world ! 

The  triple  mitre  was  on  his  head,  from 
which  some  of  the  greatest  jewels  of  the 
ages  sparkled  loftily ;  his  vestments  glit- 
tered  beside    his    pallid,   old    man's    skin. 


PONTIFEX    MAXIMUS.  7 

He  raised  his  jewelled  hand  in  blessing, 
bending  now  to  one  side,  now  to  the 
other  over  the  serried  ranks,  and  thus 
passed  on. 

And  his  face  ?  It  was  keen  and  in- 
tellectual, even  to  shrewdness,  ever  watch- 
ful and  nervous,  yet  restrained,  —  a  face 
fit  for  a  scholar,  a  diplomat,  and  a  fox; 
at  once  harrowed  and  self-contained,  anx- 
ious and  full  of  resources,  cast  in  a 
conservative  mould,  and  yet  liberal  beyond 
his  environment. 

The  magnificence  of  this  ceremony 
appalled.  Its  audacity  made  one  afraid, 
and  yet  it  fascinated  with  a  savage  splen- 
dor. 

An  Anglican  clergyman  w^ho  had  been 
watching  with  wrapt  countenance,  now 
fell  upon  his  knees,  for  the  mark  of  his 
future  apostasy  was  already  upon  him. 

Then  the  sombre  music  of  the  mass 
for  the  dead  stole  through  the  church, 
from  where  the  incense  and  the  candles 
burned,    and    after    a    while    I    heard    the 


8         LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

thin,  small  voice  of  an  old  man  in  faint 
recitation.  It  sounded  attenuated  by  the 
immensity  of  the  church,  as  though  it 
had  passed  through  many  atmospheres,  or 
pierced  the  walls  of  a  tomb.  The  quaver- 
ing monotone  ceased  amid  a  profound, 
prayerful  hush. 

God  rest  their  souls  ! 

When  the  procession  returned  from  the 
altar  to  the  chapel  door  along  the  marble 
pavement,  I  could  see  the  Pope  far  down 
the  cheering  throng,  swaying  slightly  upon 
his  lofty  sedia,  blessing  as  he  passed, 
smiling  with  polite  serenity,  gratified  by 
the  enthusiasm,  but  weary  with  old  age. 

Outside,  the  sun  beat  joyously  upon 
the  piazza  from  a  luminous  sky,  the 
fountains  prattled  to  the  bathing  pigeons, 
the  air  came  spring-like  to  the  nostrils ; 
there  was  the  rumble  of  Rome  in  the  dis- 
tance, and  all  the  joys  of  daily  life  came 
back  again. 


II. 

THAT   LITTLE   NEAPOLITAN    LIE. 

THE  porter  of  the  small  Albergo 
Buona  Mano  liked  to  put  advent- 
ure into  his  work.  He  would  rather  any 
day  make  a  soldo  by  various  shifts  than 
a  lira  by  direct  business  methods. 

It  was  in  his  blood. 

Not  many  foreigners  came  his  way. 
Occasionally  he  caught  a  German  artist, 
bound  for  Capri;  once  he  had  lured  a 
couple  of  British  old  maids  from  the 
beaten  track  of  star-marked  Baedecker 
hotels ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  he  had 
to  exercise  his  talents  upon  Italian  com- 
mercial travellers,  who  were  often  more 
than  his  peers. 

As  Guiseppe  drove  to  the  station  one 
afternoon  on  the  step  of  the  omnibus, 
his  mind  was  full  of  delightful  criminal- 
ities.    By  the  time  the  driver  had  drawn 

9 


lO      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

up  in  line  with  the  other  omnibuses  of 
Naples,  the  porter  had  secured,  in  imagi- 
nation, a  family  of  very  rich  Americans, 
who  feed  him  every  time  they  passed  in 
or  out  the  hotel  door;  a  dashing  prima 
donna,  who  made  eyes  at  him  and  showed 
her  teeth  with  a  rich  smile ;  an  aged 
count,  a  diplomat,  on  his  way  to  the 
east,  who  ordered  many  carriages ;  and 
a  party  of  English  who  used  him  as  a 
courier,  and  took  him  shopping  for  bar- 
gains. He  was  very  glad  to  go  with 
them,  and  always  got  his  twenty-five  per 
cent,  of  the  purchases  from  the  shop- 
keepers. 

The  whistle  of  the  train,  arriving  from 
Rome,  woke  our  friend  from  his  day- 
dreams, just  as  he  had  persuaded  the 
King  of  Italy  and  the  Star  of  Savoy 
herself  to  take  lodgings  in  the  Albergo 
Buona  Mano. 

But  his  watchful  eye  soon  after  fell 
upon  some  American  tourists,  who  were 
standing   disconsolate    and    distracted   be- 


THAT  LITTLE  NEAPOLITAN   LIE.  I  I 

fore  the  line  of  omnibuses.  Evidently 
kind  Providence  had  sent  an  answer  to 
his  hopes.  It  would  be  wrong  to  neglect 
so  fertile  a  field,  especially  as  these  tour- 
ists, for  some  reason  or  other,  refused  the 
overtures  of  one  porter  after  another. 

"  No,"  said  the  man  among  them  who 
had  travelled  before ;  "  I  won't  take  the 
first  that  offers.  Last  time  I  was  here 
I  stayed  at  a  certain  Hotel  Diana,  over- 
looking the  Chiaia.  I  don't  see  the  om- 
nibus, though." 

"  Ask,  why  don't  you  ?  "  came  from  a 
weary  woman's  voice. 

"Ask  ?  My  dear,  you  must  never  ask  ques- 
tions in  Naples.  They  make  you  pay  for 
everything  here,  even  when  they  lie  to  you." 

Guiseppe  had  a  master's  eye  for  effects. 
He  chose  his  moments  for  action  with  the 
skill  of  a  great  general.  It  was  in  his 
blood. 

"  Vant  'otel  Diane  ?  Verra  veil ;  I  do  ze 
zervice  'otel  Diane.  Si,  si  I  omnibus, — 
to  lite  de  suite '^ 


12      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

The  tourists  looked  at  each  other. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  objected  the  man- 
who-had-travelled-before,  "  how  he  can  do 
the  service  for  Hotel  Diana,  when  the  sign 
on  his  omnibus  says  '  Albergo  Buona 
Mano.' " 

A  female  voice :  "  I  am  beginning  to 
hate  Naples  !  Let 's  have  the  baggage  put 
on  and  get  away." 

"  Si,  si !  I  do  ze  zervice  'otel  Diane," 
came  from  Guiseppe,  at  regular  intervals. 

The  party  clambered  into  the  little  omni- 
bus, much  relieved ;  but  a  cloud  of  distrust 
still  rested  upon  the  brow  of  the  man-who- 
had-travelled-before. 

As  the  omnibus  rattled  over  the  streets 
of  Naples,  Guiseppe  swung  up  and  down 
on  the  step,  smiling  innocently  upon  his 
victims  within.  It  had  been  almost  too 
easy,  this  capture.  He  heard  the-man-who- 
had-travelled-before  describe  the  atrocities 
committed  by  the  cab-drivers  of  Naples, 
the  piracies  of  the  men  who  rowed  passen- 
gers over  to  the  Capri  boat.     Guiseppe  felt 


THAT  LITTLE  NEAPOLITAN  LIE.  1 3 

as  though  he  were  playing  the  part  of  vil- 
lain in  some  dear  old  melodrama.  He 
hugged  this  theatrical  thought  to  his  heart. 
He  felt  it  course  through  his  veins.  It 
was  in  his  blood. 

Instead  of  driving  to  the  Chiaia,  the  om- 
nibus plunged  into  a  labyrinth  of  narrow 
streets. 

The  man  -  who  -  had  -  travelled  -  before 
seemed  to  grow  restless. 

"  I  can't  see  why  we  should  go  through 
the  back  streets.  Hotel  Diana  is  by  the 
water." 

Guiseppe  looked  carefully  away,  fearing 
to  betray  his  joy,  and  presently  the  omni- 
bus drew  up  before  the  Albergo  Buona 
Mano,  a  sad  and  sombre-looking  inn,  full 
of  dread  possibilities.  Guiseppe  opened 
the  door  with  a  wide  swing  of  welcome, 
and  proceeded  to  take  out  whatever  bags 
and  bundles  were  nearest. 

"  Heh  there  !  "  shouted  the-man-who-had- 
travelled-before.  "  What 's  all  this  ?  Drop 
those  bags  !     Drive  on.     This  is  n't  Hotel 


14      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

Diana ;  this  is  your  miserable  Albergo 
Buona  Mano  !  " 

With  a  look  of  gentle  commiseration, 
Guiseppe  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  Scuse  mea,  Votel  Diane  n^existe  plus. 
Voila  !     I  t'ink  you  lika  dis  place." 

"  N^existe  phis  ?  There  is  n't  any  Hotel 
Diana  any  longer  ?  But  you  said  you  'd  — 
So  you  lied  when  you  said  you  'd  take 
us  to  Hotel  Diana  ?  I  '11  break  every 
bone  in  your  body  !  (Let  me  alone,  girls ; 
we  've  got  to  show  them  we  won't  stand 
it !)    I  '11  teach  you  to  lie  to  an  American  !  " 

Before  Guiseppe  could  dodge,  the  man- 
who-had-travelled-before  had  seized  him  by 
the  coat-collar,  and  was  shaking  him  to 
a  running  accompaniment  of  keen  com- 
ments upon  the  character  of  Italians  in 
general  and  porters  in  particular. 

At  the  first  sound  the  proprietor  came 
rushing  out,  with  hands  upraised,  beseech- 
ing the  kind  forcstiere  to  have  patience. 
It  was  a  misunderstanding. 

"  I   want   you  to  know  that   I    am   con- 


THAT  LITTLE  NEAPOLITAN  LIE.  I  5 

nected  with  the  press.  A  word  from  me, 
and  your  hotel  will  go  higher  than  a  kite." 

The  proprietor  hoped  the  party  would  be 
comfortable  at  the  Albergo. 

"  No,  sir  !  I  would  n't  stay  here  now  for 
a  farm.  Climb  out,  girls.  We  '11  take  a 
cab,  and  drive  to  the  swellest  hotel  in 
town." 

By  this  time  all  the  servants  of  the  inn 
were  in  the  street,  every  window  of  the 
neighborhood  was  full  of  delighted  spec- 
tators. 

Guiseppe  stood  there,  dazed  by  his 
shaking.  His  jaw  fell  helplessly.  As 
the  cab  drove  off  with  his  victims,  he 
had  one  moment  of  supreme  satisfaction. 
He  saw  them  suddenly  duck  their  heads 
together,  pull  their  coat-collars  and  shawls 
over  their  ears,  and  take  out  their  hand- 
kerchiefs. Some  good  soul  had  thrown 
a  lot  of  water  upon  them  from  a  lofty 
window. 

Then  Guiseppe  finally  broke  into  a  long, 
stage  laugh.     He  felt  like  an  artist,  foiled, 


l6       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

but  Still  devoted  to  his  art.     It  was  in  his 
blood, 

Guiseppe  laughed  on,  until  the  proprietor 
of  the  inn  came  to  tell  him  that  he  was 
discharged. 


III. 

A   RIOT    IN    ROME. 

MY  little  apartment  was  perched  high 
in  air  on  the  via  Quattro  Fon- 
tane.  The  sun  poured  into  it  for  half 
the  day,  and  for  the  other  half  the  vary- 
ing winds  of  a  Roman  winter  crept  through 
the  ill-fitting  windows  and  chilled  the  stone 
floor. 

In  February  there  came  a  dull  day, — 
moist,  unwholesome,  and  threatening  rain. 
I  was  reading  the  Tribuna  after  lunch, 
when  something  made  me  start  to  my 
feet  and  step  out  upon  the  miniature 
balcony  that  overlooked  the  street.  There 
was  a  sound  in  the  direction  of  the  Corso 
I  had  never  heard  before,  —  a  distant,  ill- 
defined,  elemental  murmur :  as  of  the 
sea,  and  yet  not  so  common  a  sound; 
without  apparent  pulsations,  but  rising 
on   a  cumulative   crescendo   that  betrayed 


1 8      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

no  gradations  of  increase ;  a  smooth,  com- 
pressed roar,  heart-sickening,  and  not  de- 
void of  a  certain  grewsome  harmony. 

Pigeons  darted  and  flapped,  as  usual, 
over  the  house-tops,  or  strutted  on  the 
roofs ;  a  gray  sky  lowered  upon  the 
sunless  city;  the  stone-cutters,  at  work 
on  the  Canadian  convent  opposite,  chipped 
noisily  from  their  Travertine  stone,  —  but 
in  the  street  there  seemed  to  have  arisen 
a  vague  alarm. 

It  communicated  itself  with  mysterious 
rapidity  to  the  people  on  the  pavement,  to 
the  drivers  of  cabs  and  carts  in  the  middle 
of  the  street,  and  finally  to  the  shopkeepers. 
People  were  seen  to  stop  suddenly,  and 
then  hurry  off  in  new  directions.  Car- 
riages, coming  from  the  Via  Nazionale 
and  going  toward  the  Venti  Settembre, 
pulled  up  and  started  back  on  a  gallop. 
The  owner  of  the  pizzicheria^  on  the 
corner,  came  out  in  his  white  apron,  to 
put  up  his  iron  shutters,  rattling  them 
violently,  in  trembling  haste. 


A    RIOT    IN    ROME.  1 9 

The  Stone  -  cutters  and  masons  at 
the  Canadian  convent  stole  cautiously 
from  their  work,  pale  with  apprehension 
and  uncertainty,  and  peered  up  and  down, 
irresolute. 

As  the  sound  approached,  it  lost  its 
harmonious  character.  It  could  now  be 
differentiated  into  its  component  parts. 

There  was  the  steady  fundamental  note, 
made  by  the  rumble  of  the  city,  but  the 
superimposed  noises  of  panic  could  be 
distinguished  from  one  another.  Doors 
slammed,  bolts  were  pushed  forward, 
men  ran  through  the  emptying  streets, 
shouting  incoherent  warnings,  a  runaway 
horse  trailed  his  torn  harness  behind  him. 
The  shopkeepers  watched  before  their 
doors  with  ashy-gray  countenances. 

Then  came  a  crashing  sound,  which 
dominated  all  other  notes,  —  inexplicable, 
ominous,  full  of  nameless  terrors,  —  and 
after  that  the  rioters  themselves  appeared 
over  the  brow  of  the  hill. 

They  were  mostly  young  fellows,  some 


2  0      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

mere  boys,  clad  in  the  canvas  and  cor- 
duroy of  the  Italian  workmen. 

They  carried  shovels  and  picks,  and 
dashed  them,  as  they  ran,  against  the 
unprotected  shop  windows.  It  was  this 
constant  crashing  of  breaking  glass  which 
had  given  warning  of  their  coming.  A 
spirit  of  exaltation  seemed  upon  them. 
Some  overmastering  force  was  directing 
their  actions,  and  had  stamped  a  look 
of  purpose  upon  their  faces,  which  ex- 
cluded all  fear  for  the  future.  Undersized 
and  ill-fed,  as  they  doubtless  were,  they 
ran  with  a  toss  of  the  dark  hair  which 
was  truly  magnificent,  —  these  votaries  of 
a  goddess  whose  name  was  Revolution. 

There  was  a  driver  from  the  country 
who  had  left  his  cart  standing  full  of 
firewood,  cut,  Italian  fashion,  into  long 
sticks.  The  rioters  quickly  overturned  this 
cart,  and  discarding  their  heavy  tools, 
armed  themselves  with  the  handier  sticks. 
They  did  not  stop  to  steal  or  even  scatter 
the    contents    of    the    shop    windows,    but 


A    RIOT    IN    ROME.  2  1 

hurried  on,  in  the  service  of  their  implac- 
able goddess,  to  do  their  utmost,  before, 
exhausted  by  their  mad  exertions,  they 
should  fall  an  easy  prey  to  the  police, 
who  now  began  to  show  themselves. 

One  fellow  struck  the  photographer's 
showcase,  on  the  ground  floor,  a  resound- 
ing blow,  shattering  the  glass  into  a 
thousand  splinters. 

Over  at  the  convent  the  vacillation  of 
the  employed,  in  the  face  of  the  excesses 
of  the  unemployed,  was  a  study  in  itself. 
It  was  evident  that  the  stone-cutters  and 
masons  felt  the  contagion  of  the  moment, 
for  at  sight  of  the  rioting,  they  rushed 
hither  and  thither  witlessly,  uncertain 
whether  to  make  enemies  of  their  em- 
ployers, or  of  their  poorer  brothers.  I 
cannot  tell,  to  this  day,  whether  or  not  I 
was  disappointed  when  they  decided  to 
return  to  their  work,  casting  furtive  glances 
about,  to  see  if  their  momentary  sympathy 
with  the  elements  of  disorder  had  been 
observed. 


2  2      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

Just  beyond  the  Via  Nazionale  a  really 
charming  scene  was  enacted.  A  young 
lieutenant  had  stationed  himself  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  in  front  of  the  glass- 
covered  Galleria  Marguerita,  to  bar  the 
way  of  the  stragglers.  He  stood  with  his 
sword  drawn,  his  army  mantle  hanging 
from  his  shoulder  like  a  Roman  toga, — 
posed  as  for  a  painter.  The  whole  had 
just  that  theatrical  touch  which  appeals  to 
the  Italian  character,  and  made  him  next 
day  the  talk  of  the  cafis. 

And  the  causes  of  this  sudden  outbreak, 
—  what  were  they  ? 

When  Rome  became  the  capital  of  Italy, 
in  1870,  its  grass-grown  streets  and  de- 
serted piazzas  took  on  another  aspect.  A 
real-estate  boom  was  started,  as  pronounced 
as  that  of  any  prairie  town  in  America. 

It  attracted  laborers  from  the  provinces 
in  unheard-of  numbers.  A  great  rejuvena- 
tion was  begun  in  the  ancient  quarters ; 
the  hitherto    unprotected    marvels    of    an- 


A    RIOT    IN    ROME.  23 

tiquity  were  set  apart  for  public  edification ; 
vast  sums  were  expended  on  improvements 
of  all  sorts. 

Then  came  a  reaction.  During  the  en- 
suing period  of  stagnation  men  were  ap- 
palled at  the  debts  they  had  contracted,  at 
the  boodle  the  politicians  had  appropriated 
under  cover  of  popular  services;  but, 
worse  than  all,  the  unemployed  workmen 
haunted  the  traftorie,  to  talk  over  their 
grievances.  They  had  brought  their  fami- 
lies with  them  from  the  country  districts, 
and  now  found  themselves  stranded,  with 
the  margin  of  starvation  slowly  receding. 

To  add  to  the  general  misery  of  the  situ- 
ation, Italy  had  joined  the  triple  alliance. 

The  army  and  the  navy  must  be  inor- 
dinately increased  to  satisfy  the  demands  of 
the  allies.  The  Budget,  which  had  for  some 
years  been  coaxed  into  an  annual  surplus, 
showed  a  deficit.  Increased  taxation  fol- 
lowed. The  necessaries  of  life  rose  steadily 
in  price,  as  high  tariffs  on  imports  were 
decreed ;  for  in  Italy,  as  elsewhere,  war,  or 


2  4      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

the  fear  of  war,  goes  hand  in  hand  with 
so-called  protection  of  native  industries. 

While  King  Humbert  was  feasting  Em- 
peror William,  and  showing  him  his  soldiers 
and  sailors,  there  was  a  fermentation  in  the 
rookeries  of  the  Roman  poor. 

The  unemployed  finally  met  in  open 
assemblies  to  take  counsel,  usually  on  the 
drill-ground,  which  lies  between  the 
churches  of  St.  John  Lateran  and  of  the 
Holy  Cross  of  Jerusalem. 

They  still  bore  their  ills  with  that  mar- 
vellous patience  of  the  Italian  people,  pre- 
ferring to  endure  for  a  time,  if,  perchance, 
work  might  be  given.  A  committee  was 
finally  sent  to  beg  the  Syndic  of  Rome  for 
relief  works.  But  how  was  it  possible  to 
involve  the  municipal  finances,  already  on 
the  verge  of  bankruptcy,  in  further  out- 
lays ?  Besides,  confidence  was  shaken, 
credit  poor ;  and  so  the  committee  returned 
empty  handed. 

Several  days  passed,  several  more  meet- 
ings were  held,  growing  noisier  as  they  pro- 


A    RIOT    IN    ROME.  25 

gressed.  Further  refusals  of  help  were 
reported,  until  one  day  violent  counsels 
prevailed  over  the .  customary  advices  of 
prudence. 

A  few  Socialists  and  Anarchists  by  pro- 
fession spoke  of  the  great  revolution  which 
must  come  some  day  ;  they  urged  concerted 
action  against  capital.  Then  some  fellow 
exclaimed  that  the  time  for  talking  had 
passed ;  the  moment  for  action  was  at 
hand.  Shouts  rose  from  the  ranks.  A 
moderate  orator  tried  to  make  himself 
heard  above  the  hoarse  din;  but  when 
some  one  took  a  stone  from  a  pile  which 
lay  there  for  building  purposes,  and  hurled 
it  at  a  passing  carriage,  the  long-pent-up, 
savage  hatred  of  those  thousands  had  burst 
its  bonds. 

They  issued  from  the  square  a  cursing, 
howling  mob,  to  overrun  Rome  until  the 
evening. 

That  night  the  stars  looked  down  upon  a 
great  ufiinhabited  waste,  lying  all  around 
the  Eternal  City. 


26      LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

It  was  the  Campagna,  breeding  malaria 
for  want  of  tillage. 

A  few  noble  families,  sprung  from  papal 
orgies,  alone  have  the  right  to  graze  their 
sheep  and  horses  upon  it. 

Ever  and  anon  a  buffalo  strode  through 
the  moonlight,  sniffing  the  night  air  with 
outstretched  head,  its  black  sides  glistening 
in  the  light.  The  ruined  aqueducts  seemed 
always  on  the  march  across  the  plain  from 
Tivoli,  or  from  the  silver-blue  Alban  Hills. 
St.  Peter  reared  its  dome  silhouette,  and 
the  broken  tombs  watched  wearily  beside 
the  Appian  Way. 

But  in  Rome  itself  the  prisons  were  full 
of  starving  wretches. 

For  that  same  human  greed  which  had 
reserved  the  Campagna  for  the  cattle,  had 
also  robbed  them  of  their  heritage. 


THE  ANGELS  OF  THE  BAPTISTERY 

A  BLIND  beggar  was  plying  his  trade 
one  December  day  in  the  cathedral 
enclosure  of  Pisa. 

He  was  not  as  blind  as  he  seemed,  for 
he  watched  visitors  warily  with  open  eyes, 
until  they  neared,  and  then  stood  blinking, 
with  suffering  mien  and  extended  hand, 
ready  to  curse  if  they  passed  on  unheed- 
ing. 

The  great  bell  in  the  Leaning  Tower 
rang  out  the  noon  hour  with  terrific  rever- 
berations, threatening  to  destroy  the  whole 
structure  in  a  cataclysm  of  battling  vibra- 
tions. 

Soon  after,  an  Englishman  arrived  in  a 
carriage,  and  proceeded  to  see  the  sights. 
He  was  of  the  usual  w^ell-dressed,  well- 
groomed,  man-of-the-world  type.  His  face 
was  without  expression. 


28       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

After  a  stolid  visit  to  the  Tower,  he  en- 
tered the  cathedral,  which  had  weathered 
yellow-brown,  and  looked  painted  in  vari- 
ous shades  of  sepia. 

The  blind  beggar  waited  outside. 

A  quiet  magnificence  made  itself  felt 
within  the  cathedral,  from  the  bronzed 
doors  to  the  chastely-carved  altars,  de- 
signed by  Michael  Angelo,  and  the  profuse 
ornaments  in  costly  lapis  lazuli.  Andrea 
del  Sarto's  picture  of  St.  Agnes  hung 
from  a  column,  showing  the  holy  maid 
gazing  heavenward,  the  orange-yellow  of 
her  garments  crossed  by  shadows  of  lovely 
purple.  In  the  transept  Galileo's  pendu- 
lum-lamp was  suspended,  resting  now,  after 
having  taught  mankind  a  new  set  of  laws. 

But  the  Englishman  came  out  unmoved, 
and  the  blind  beggar  cursed  him  quietly 
for  his  indifference. 

A  strong  light  poured  into  the  galleries 
of  the  Campo  Santo,  flecking  the  worn 
pavements.  On  the  eastern  side  white 
modern  statues  were  thrown  into  refulgent 


THE    ANGELS    OF    THE    BAPTISTERY.  29 

relief  against  a  background  of  fading 
frescoes.  Pathetically  crude,  these  latter, 
full  of  the  grotesque  images  of  the  feudal 
mind,  figures  jumbled  together  haphazard 
and  with  only  a  primitive  sense  of  color 
and  perspective.  An  old-time  solemnity 
haunted  this  resting-place,  but  it  did  not 
impress  the  Englishman.  He  strode  by, 
without  noticing  the  hand  of  the  blind 
beggar.  The  latter  cursed  him  a  second 
time,  more  roundly. 

And,  last  of  all,  there  w^as  the  Baptistery, 
set  on  the  ground  like  a  monster  papal 
tiara,  bristling  with  ornaments,  and  rounded 
at  the  top  like  a  dome.  It  has  a  rich  and 
reverent  interior.  Half-lights  steal  in 
through  small,  sparkling  windows.  There 
is  a  font  of  marvellous  inlaid  marbles, 
and  then  the  famous  pulpit  of  Niccola 
Pisano,  wdth  its  strong  reliefs  and  polished 
pillars  borne  upon  archaic  lions. 

The  Englishman  was  about  to  return 
to  his  carriage  when  the  blind  beggar, 
standing  just  within  the  door,  touched  his 
arm  and  motioned  him  to  listen. 


30       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

He  sang  the  four  notes  of  a  chord  in 
slow  succession  up  into  the  vault,  by  no 
means  well  or  sweetly,  but  as  anyone 
might  do. 

Then,  in  truth,  a  great  marvel  was 
performed ;  for  the  dome  gathered  the 
isolated  notes  into  its  ample  arms,  breathed 
its  own  spirit  into  them,  and  thus  rained 
them  down  again,  welded  into  a  single 
chord,  —  refined,  apparently  rarified,  and 
ringing,  through  a  celestial  diminuendo,  to 
utter  silence. 

Now  it  seemed  like  the  angelic  arpeg- 
gios of  many  harps,  luxurious  and  speaking 
of  a  golden  rest;  now  enthralling,  ecstatic, 
reaching  to  one's  inmost  fibres,  and  prick- 
ing the  imagination  to  supernatural  enter- 
prise. In  such  a  moment  the  very 
mysteries  of  life  are  touched,  deeply  felt, 
but  dimly  known.  The  soul  communes 
with  the  unseen,  the  world  apart,  in 
whispers  fine. 

It  was  like  the  eternal  harmonies  of 
many   whirling    worlds,  —  a  concord    deep 


THE    ANGELS    OF    THE    BAPTISTERY.  3 1 

and  wide.  It  opened  the  vast  expanse 
of  space,  and  gave  one  for  an  instant 
a  short-lived  glimpse  of  what  we  call 
Infinity. 

The  blind  beggar  saw  tears  coursing 
down  the  cheeks  of  the  man  of  the 
world,  and  soon  after  felt  a  good-sized 
silver  piece  in  his  palm. 


V. 
A  WOMAN  OF  PARIS. 

COUNT  De  B ,  first  lieutenant  in 
the  artillery,  is  sitting  in  uniform 
before  the  Cafe  Americain,  surveying  the 
strollers  of  the  Boulevard. 

It  is  eight  o'clock.  He  has  just  dined, 
and  the  waiter  is  bringing  him  his  cup 
of  coffee  and  liqueur.  He  leans  back, 
with  his  sword  on  his  knees,  a  cigarette 
between  his  lips,  the  vizor  of  his  cap 
tilted  up,  just  a  little.  His  uniform  of 
blue-black,  with  rich  red  stripes,  is  the 
handsomest  in  the  French  army,  and  the 
women  give  him  little  glances  as  they 
pass;  he  ought  to  be  happy. 

But  there  is  a  puzzled  look  in  the 
lieutenant's  eyes.  It  was  only  day  before 
yesterday  that  he  landed  in  Toulon,  on 
his  return  from  the  ill-fated  expedition 
to  Tonquin,  and   Paris  is  a  little  discon- 


A    WOiMAN    OF    PARIS.  33 

certing  to  a  man  who  has  been  camping 
in  a  wilderness  of  jungle  and  swamp  for 
two  years,  fighting  a  hidden  foe,  dying 
and  recovering  from  cholera,  or  starving 
on  a  little  rice. 

Over  a  lighted  match  he  kindles  a  little 
conversation  with  his  neighbor,  an  Amer- 
ican traveller. 

"  Per7nettez —  thank  you." 

"  I  'm  glad  to  find  you  speak  English, 
so  few  French  people  do." 

"My  mother,  the  comtesse,  is  American. 
You  likes  Paris  ?  Gai^  c'est  vrai.  Plenty 
pretty  women.  Ah^  les  femmes  I  I  prom- 
ise myself  much  amusement  when  I  return 
from  Tonquin.  But  I  find  no  longer  the 
same  thing.  It  is  w^ell  the  cholera  which 
change  me." 

"  The  cholera  !  " 

"  Yes,  I  had  a  poste^ — three  guns,  twenty- 
one  men ;  about  thirty  kilometres  from 
the  ca77ip  du  centre.  After  some  time 
communication  was  cut  away;  no  provi- 
sions  made   cholera,   so   my   men    all   had 


34       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

it.  Ma  foil  many  die,  black,  degoutafits. 
At  last  my  sergeant,  Vigoroux,  and  I  catch 
the  sickness,  and  no  help  yet  which  come. 
One  day  Vigoroux  drag  himself  to  my 
tent,  —  I  see  him  try  to  do  Jixe  and 
salute,  —  '  Mo?i  lieutenant,  ily  a  une  bouteille 
de  Champagne  we  save  for  the  fete.  Mon 
lieutenant,  you  take  that,  and  I,  too,  a  little. 
Perhaps  it  will  do  us  some  good.'  Voyez 
vous  le  pauvre,  brave  man  ?  Eh,  Men  i 
we  drink  and  get  more  strong,  till  reen- 
forcements  come  and  take  us  to  the 
'ospital." 

"  That  was  a  tough  experience !  Did 
you  have  any  more  of  that  kind  ? " 

"  Once  I  find  a  letter  stick  with  a 
knife  on  my  table,  and  written  in  Ton- 
quinois  '  Death '  in  big  letters.  So  when 
I  ride  to  the  guns  on  inspection,  I  take 
a  guard  of  ten  men  with  me.  The  Ton- 
quinois  attack,  but  we  beat  them  away." 

''  I  should  think  you  must  feel  quite 
dazed  to  be  plunged  so  suddenly  from 
that    barbaric    life    into    this    Paris,  where 


A    WOMAN    OF    PARIS.  35 

the  Utmost  ingenuity  of  refinement  reigns 
supreme." 

"  Yes,  ebloui, —  like  from  death  into  a 
bright  light.  'Ave  one  sherry  cobbler 
with  me,  eh  t  This  place  is  good  for 
that, — Cafd  Americain,  you  see ;  but  one 
does  not  eat  well  here.  Yes  t  Ganofi  I 
deux,  avec  de  la  glace,  vous  savez  ?  " 

"  But  you  were  speaking  just  now  of 
the  cholera  having  changed  your  liking 
for  Paris." 

"  I,  which  was  Boulevardier  to  the  ends, 
not  'appy  away  from  here;  know  every 
caf^,  theatre,  and  all  the  best  women. 
C^a  in^efmuie  maintenant." 

The  stream  of  the  Boulevard  sweeps 
by  them,  down  the  brilliant  lines  of 
shops,  hotels  and  kiosques,  gaudy  with 
posters.  It  is  a  stream  that  carries  many 
a  steady  man  off  his  feet,  and  engulfs 
many  a  dainty  morsel  of  a  woman.  Cabs 
roll  in  procession  up  and  down  the  middle, 
the  drivers  lolling  on  their  boxes  in  im- 
pudent   recklessness.       At    the    curbstone 


36       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

camelots  are  hawking  their  nauseous 
wares:  comic  papers,  gallant  adventures, 
toys,  songs.  The  pavement  is  alive  with 
a  multitude,  putting  its  best  foot  forward 
to  please,  to  stare,  to  make  an  impression, 
and  to  be  stared  at.  Stumpy  little  soldiers 
in  ungainly  uniforms  salute  the  lieutenant 
incessantly. 

"When  I  was  getting  well  in  the  'os- 
pital,  I  think  a  good  deal  about  women." 

"That  was  right."  The  American 
laughs. 

^^  C^ est -a-  dire,  these  women  of  Paris. 
Why  are  they  so  bad?  I  say,  and  remem- 
ber my  women  I  could  not  trust.  La 
femfne  de  Paris,  you  cannot  see  her  round 
the  corner.     What  you  think  ?  " 

"  No ;  you  're  right.  I  understand  what 
you  mean.  There  is  something  about 
your  French  women  that  defies  analysis. 
They  swim  in  oceans  of  tact.  There  is 
always  just  the  right  touch.  They  put 
you  at  your  ease  with  a  turn  of  the 
shoulder,   or    inflame    you    with    the    low- 


A    WOMAN    OF    PARIS.  37 

ering  of  the  eyes.  Delicate  masks  and 
lady-like  disguises  !  And  back  of  it  one 
is  continually  suspecting  some  piece  of 
treachery.  This  sympathy,  is  it  not  per- 
haps diluted  selfishness .''  These  tears  and 
friendly  taps, —  are  they  not  works  of  art  ? 
This  pretty  manner  doubtless  hides  some 
incredible  past." 

"  You  speak  like  a  connoisseur." 

"Well,  I  have  lived.  We  Americans 
do  not  profess  to  understand  our  own 
women,  but  yours  are  like  sealed  editions 
de  luxe  with  gold  clasps,  to  us.  If  I  may 
exaggerate  to  make  my  meaning  clear, 
your  Frenchwoman  seems  careless  about 
'crimes,  but  punctilious  about  convention- 
alities. Yet,  through  it  all  she  never 
forgets  her  bread  and  butter." 

"  Ah,  very  good !  I  cannot  express 
myself  like   that  in  English." 

The  lieutenant  turns  his  eyes  for  a 
moment  down  the  street  to  avoid  the 
salute  of  a  group  of  soldiers  he  sees 
coming.      As    he    does    so,    a    girl    passes. 


^S       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

looking  into  men's  eyes  without  seeming 
to,  —  an  art.  So,  too,  is  her  gait,  not 
exactly  a  stroll,  but  a  walk  that  suggests; 
yet  daintily,  mind  you,  very  c/iic,  as  a 
special  favor,  because  monsieur  is  so  tres 
bien.  The  lieutenant  hears  a  caressing 
note,  "  Tiens^  de  retour,  mon  cher?  Viens  me 
voir.'"  Yes,  it  is  Josephine,  —  the  same, 
wearing  her  adventures  unchanged.  And 
she  is  not  a  bad  girl,  either, —  one  of  those 
big  Alsatians,  that  are  as  fatal  as  Helen, 
when  they  have  learned  the  arts  of  Paris. 

The  American  looks  after  her  in  amaze- 
ment.    "  And  a  woman  like  that,  too !  " 

As  the  night  advances,  the  electric 
lights  seem  to  glare  more  pitilessly  than 
ever  on  the  dusty  leaves  of  the  trees  and 
the  powdered  faces  in  the  parade.  Dis- 
charged servants  and  shop-girls  are  exert- 
ing their  most  graceful  and  determined 
wiles.  Mon  dieu,  il  faut  vivre  !  At  other 
cafes  isolated  women  sit,  en  grande  toilette, 
who  live  by  changing  their  addresses, — 
not  too  often.     Poseurs  in  dress  suits  and 


A    WOMAN    OF    PARIS.  39 

vacant  smiles,  or  foreigners  with  money, 
are  the  fish  most  sought  after  by  these 
anglers. 

The  lieutenant  shrugs  his  shoulders. 

^''  La  femme  serieuse^  what  has  she  ?  Low 
wages,  long  hours,  poor  quarters.  What 
you  think  .'* " 

"  True ;  and  the  woman  of  Paris  is  not 
burdened  with  a  Puritan  conscience.  She 
does  not  suffer  long  in  silence.  She  al- 
ways looks  well,  because  she  knows  no  re- 
morse. There  is  nothing  that  robs  people 
of  their  good  looks  so  quickly  as  continual 
self-suppression." 

The  American   speaks  bitterly. 

Paris  is  beginning  to  disgorge  vast 
crowds  from  its  theatres  and  halls.  The 
air  throbs  with  the  exaltation  of  a  million 
people  bent  on  amusement,  —  a  frivolous, 
kindly  air,  that  stimulates  and  whispers, 
"  Please  yourself  first,  and  others,  too,  if 
you  can."  In  the  scraps  of  conversation, 
in  the  significant  gestures,  in  the  very 
toilettes,  there    is   a   sensual    sparkle   that 


40       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

none  of  us  can  resist.  It  lures,  it  mocks 
the  conscience  with  a  jest.  Worse  than 
all,  that  smell  of  Paris  rises  to  the  nostrils, 
the  smell  of  scented  women,  like  the  fumes 
of  alcohol  to  the  drunkard. 

Josephine  comes  drifting  back  on  the 
tide  to  the  Cafe  Americain,  looking  a  shade 
less  fresh.  This  time  the  lieutenant  says, 
'•^  Assieds  tot,  ma  petite.'' 

While  they  talk  in  rapid,  low  tones,  the 
American  sits  smoking  in  embarrassment, 
and  presently  excuses  himself.  As  he 
saunters  away,  he  smiles  contemptuously. 
"  Ah,  these  French  people  !  " 

But  he  does  the  lieutenant  an  injustice, 
for  the  latter  sits  till  far  into  the  night  at 
the  cafe,  talking  seriously  to  Josephine. 
The  waiter  passes  to  and  fro,  nervously  at 
first,  then  with  decided  irritation.  He  ends 
by  piling  the  chairs  upon  the  tables. 

Then  the  couple  rise  very  gravely,  and 
go  out  into  the  warm  night,  where  a  soft, 
sticky  mist  is  beginning  to  hover  about  the 
trees. 


A    WOMAN    OF    PARIS.  4 1 

"  Th  promefs^  tu  vas  chcz  toi,  demaifi,  en 
Alsace,  chcz  tcs parens  V^  A  billet  de  banque 
of  a  hundred  francs  changes  hands,  the 
lieutenant  salutes,  and  walks  hastily 
towards  his  hotel,  clinking  his  sword. 

Next  day  he  starts  for  Chalons,  to  join 
his  regiment  at  artillery  practice. 

But  Josephine  buys  a  new  dress  at  the 
Magazin  du  Louvre  with  her  hundred 
francs,  and  goes  to  the  races  as  usual. 


VI. 

ON    THE   FRENCH    FRONTIER. 

A  ROW  of  garrisoned  cities  and 
entrenched  camps  crouch  like  watch- 
dogs over  against  Germany:  Besan^on, 
Epinal,  Nancy,  Toul,  and  many  another. 

Railroads,  serving  as  strategic  lines, 
skirt  the  whole  French  frontier.  At  every 
station  the  signs  of  military  preparation 
abound.  There  are  extra  tracks  and  plat- 
forms for  embarking  troops  and  loading 
cannon,  powder-magazines,  and  vast  store- 
houses for  ammunition  and  fodder,  —  all 
deteriorating  for  want  of  use,  and  needing 
constant  renewal.  Almost  every  hill  is 
crowned  with  a  low  fort  of  the  most  ap- 
proved pattern,  which  is  at  once  a  post  of 
observation,  a  signalling  and  spying  station, 
and  a  centre  of  destruction. 

Besan9on,  the  headquarters  of  the 
Seventh    Army    Corps,    lies    close-packed 

43 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  43 

upon  a  loop  of  the  River  Doubs.  An  old- 
fashioned  citadel  rises  from  the  neck  of 
the  peninsula,  and  on  either  hand  two 
strong  forts,  —  Bregille  and  Chaudanne. 
All  other  approaches  are  guarded  by  a 
multitude  of  walls  and  bastions ;  the  very 
bridges  and  gates  seem  full-fledged  for- 
tresses, being  the  work  of  Vauban,  that 
famous  builder  of  Louis  XIV.  But  a 
new  zone  of  defence  covers  the  surround- 
ing hills  for  many  miles  around,  hiding 
itself  from  the  uninitiated.  There  are 
three  principal  heights,  —  Chailluz,  Mont 
Faucon  and  Planoise,  encircled  by  lesser 
forts,  and  connected  by  graded,  macadam- 
ized roads  and  telegraph  lines.  In  one  in- 
stant their  guns  can  concentrate  fire  upon 
a  given  spot  in  the  plain  with  horrible  pre- 
cision. Besancon  is  without  doubt  a  place 
forte. 

Nancy,  the  ancient  capital  of  Lorraine, 
swarms  with  soldiers.  It  is  a  city,  flat  and 
whitewashed,  that  has  been  beautified  in 
places  by  the  munificence  of   King  Stan- 


44       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

islas  of  Bohemia,  who  once  made  it  his 
home.  The  Place  '  Stanislas  survives  to 
perpetuate  his  memory.  This  place  is 
adorned  with  a  Town  Hall,  a  Municipal 
Theatre,  an  Episcopal  Palace,  and  gilded 
gates  of  wonderful  renaissance  workman- 
ship. 

But  near  by  there  is  another  square,  the 
Place  de  I'Alliance,  flanked  by  plain,  old- 
fashioned  houses.  A  grotesque  rococco 
fountain  mutters  in  the  centre.  Here 
the  survivors  of  an  old  generation  live 
apart,  ruined  by  the  late  war,  and  nursing 
their  pride  in  solitude.  But  their  door- 
plates  are  kept  brightly  burnished,  so  that 
one  may  read  the  names  of  those  who 
mourn  within,  waiting  for  the  revanche. 

An  hour  by  train  from  Nancy,  and 
farther  from  the  frontier,  lies  the  en- 
trenched town  of  Toul.  It  is  surrounded 
by  formidable  hill  forts  of  the  latest 
design,  all  connected  with  the  town  by 
an  ingenious  narrow-gauge  railroad,  which 
is  constructed  to  climb   steep   grades,  so 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  45 

as  to  transport  the  heaviest  ordnance  to 
the  surrounding  heights.  Two  regular 
trips  are  made  every  day  to  victual  the 
forts  and  carry  soldiers  up  and  down. 

The  town  itself  is  uninteresting,  in  spite 
of  a  fine  old  church  and  neglected 
cloisters.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  pop- 
ulation and  the  garrison  number  about 
the  same,  so  that  the  former  merely 
ministers  to  the  latter.  The  military 
spirit  really  dominates  every  thing. 

MORNING. 

A  light  came  up  over  the  farther  hills 
of  Franche  Comte  and  Lorraine. 

It  wavered  for  awhile  like  faint  summer 
lightning.  Then  the  birds  twittered  to 
it  from  the  edge  of  the  woods,  and 
soared  to  it  from  the  fields.  There  came 
a  breath  that  brushed  the  plumes  of  the 
poplars  along  many  a  roadside,  and  swept 
the  scent  of  clover  into  the  red-roofed 
towns  and  grim  fortresses  of  the  frontier. 


46       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

The  sentinels  on  the  ramparts  sniffed 
the  air  eagerly,  watching  the  brazen  sky 
turn  blue,  and  so  a  June  day  dawned  in 
eastern  France. 

After  the  ?'evei//e  had  sounded  in  Be- 
sangon,  an  officer  could  be  seen  riding 
slowly  up  to  Fort  Bregille  for  his  daily 
inspection.  The  red  of  his  uniform  was 
thrown  into  brilliant  relief  by  the  green 
of  the  roadside,  or  the  foliage  of  the 
trees  he  passed.  Presently  a  little  file  of 
green  and  gray-blue  sharpshooters  crossed 
the  bridge  of  St.  Pierre  to  manoeuvre 
among  the  lanes  of  the  countryside.  In 
another  direction  a  train  of  artillery  rattled 
on  the  highway,  the  men  riding  in  linen 
jackets  and  shapeless  blue-black  trousers, 
striped  with  red.  A  discordant  medley  of 
trumpets,  practising  the  calls,  came  from 
somewhere  in  the  barracks. 

A  hundred  miles  farther  north,  at 
Epinal,  enormous  white  barracks  glistened 
ominously  among  pine  forests.  Red- 
legged    soldiers    swarmed   in   and   out   the 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  47 

doors,  or  marched  in  steady  lines  up  the 
roads. 

In  Nancy,  another  fifty  miles  farther, 
there  was  similar  activity. 

It  was  before  the  sun  had  fairly 
risen  that  a  detachment  of  infantry  swept 
through  the  Place  Stanislas,  outward  bound. 
There  was  first  a  gentle  breath  of  music 
far  away  by  the  barracks.  It  rose  to  a 
stimulating  and  triumphant  march  as  it 
approached.  The  ground  throbbed  with 
the  steady  tread  of  the  soldiers,  —  cheery 
little  fellows,  burned  brown  by  exposure, 
loosely  and  comfortably  set  up.  A  minute 
passed,  the  band  was  clamorous  with 
rhythmic  bursts;  three  minutes,  and  the 
musicians  were  already  far  up  the  street, 
only  the  heavy  tramp  remained.  At  last 
there  was  the  shuffling  of  the  rear  guard, 
a  little  out  of  step ;  and  all  was  still 
again. 

In  another  direction,  just  out  of  town, 
the  artillery  barracks  were  astir. 

On    the    road    thither    one    met    untidy 


48       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

soldiers  in  foraging  suits,  carting  fodder 
and  manure  in  four-horse  military  wagons. 
But  within  the  large  enclosure  squads  of 
fine,  tall  artillery  men  in  rich,  sober  uniform, 
were  being  put  through  the  infantry  drill, 
for  theirs  is  a  complicated  branch  of  the 
service,  involving  a  knowledge  of  many 
tactics.  Under  a  long  shed  stood  a  row 
of  field-guns,  carefully  guarded  by  a  sen- 
tinel, who  had  orders  not  to  allow  any 
one  to  approach,  except  the  officer  of 
the  day,  for  the  mechanism  of  these 
melinite  guns  is  still  a  war  secret.  In 
the  riding-school  new  horses  were  being 
trained  for  the  saddle.  At  first  the  men 
rode  with  their  sabres  under  the  left  leg, 
that  the  clattering  might  not  frighten  their 
mounts,  but  the  animals  soon  became 
accustomed  to,  and  actually  enjoyed,  the 
noise. 

After  awhile  an  officer  passed  through 
the  long  dormitories  on  inspection.  Over 
each  rough  but  clean  cot  was  written  a 
soldier's    name.       In    the    kitchen    there 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  49 

Stood  an  enormous  coffee  machine,  while 
an  appetizing  French  soup  simmered 
slowly  on  the  range.  As  the  officer 
entered  one  room  after  another,  the  men 
in  charge  cried,  ^^  Fixe  !'^  and  stood,  set  up 
in  their  ungainly  linen  suits.  The  stables, 
too,  were  kept  in  scrupulous  order,  where 
horses  munched  and  rattled  their  chain 
halters  comfortably,  —  great  strong  animals 
for  drawing  guns,  and  lighter  ones  as 
mounts. 

On  the  drill-ground  of  the  infantry  bar- 
racks in  Toul  squads  of  recruits  were 
practising  gymnastics,  bending  to  right, 
to  left,  backward  and  forward.  Others 
jumped  on  tan  bark,  or  climbed  poles  and 
ladders.  The  best  of  feeling  seemed  to 
pervade  the  ranks :  men  and  officers  min- 
gled freely,  displaying  neither  brutal  arro- 
gance nor  abject  servility. 

As  a  rule  the  soldiers  looked  bronzed, 
good-natured,  ugly  little  fellows,  and  were 
allowed  to  chatter  a  good  deal  while  wait- 
ing for  their  turn. 


50       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

A  Prussian  drill-master  would  have  de- 
spaired of  them  at  once. 

NOON. 

As  the  brilliant  day  progressed  on  the 
frontier,  violet  shadows  were  thrown  upon 
the  saffron  ground  of  the  vineyards.  The 
wet  meadows  by  the  rivers  and  canals  were 
full  of  glistening  light ;  waves  of  heat 
trembled  incessantly  above  the  railroad 
tracks.  A  few  white  clouds  coursed  on 
high,  trailing  their  shadows  over  the  hills 
of  Franche  Comtd  and  the  plains  of 
Lorraine. 

Throughout  the  morning  men  and 
women  hoed,  somewhat  hopelessly,  in  the 
vineyards,  bent  to  their  tasks  in  dogged  in- 
dustry. It  appears  that  the  vines  are 
dying  pretty  generally  in  the  east  of 
France.  Some  say  the  climate  is  chang- 
ing ;  others  shake  their  heads,  perplexed ; 
but  all  agree  that  taxes  are  rising  to  sup- 
port the  army.     Still,  the  children  did  not 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  5 1 

seem  to  care,  as  they  clambered  about  the 
cherry-trees,  picking  a  little  fruit  for  their 
baskets  and  a  great  deal  for  their  mouths. 

The  haymakers  worked  with  a  better 
will,  so  that  carts  now  drove  on  to  many  of 
the  fields,  where  the  hay  lay  crisp  in  pale 
olive-green  mounds.  It  would  often  be  a 
woman  who  clambered  in  to  adjust  the 
armfuls  which  men  in  blue  blouses  handed 
up  to  her  upon  their  pitchforks.  As  the 
pile  grew,  she  floundered  about,  knee-deep, 
tramping  to  and  fro,  and  trimming  the  load 
high  in  the  air. 

Beyond  the  suburbs  of  many  a  town, 
laborers  were  planting  and  watering- 
stretches  of  market-gardens,  where  long 
lines  of  vegetables  grew  in  mathematical 
order  from  end  to  end,  infinitely  neat  and 
appetizing. 

Just  at  noon  a  deep  sense  of  peace 
seemed  to  fall  upon  the  land.  The  sweat- 
ing peasants  sat  under  their  trees,  on  field 
and  countryside  of  the  frontier,  eating 
their    morsel    in    silence,   looking  out  over 


52       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

the  shimmering  landscape  as  they  munched. 
The  crickets  churred  in  the  tall  grass.  A 
wave  of  warm  air  passed  by,  laden  with 
the  fragrance  of  hay  and  flowers.  Here 
sat  a  woman,  her  back  against  the  trunk  of 
a  tree,  her  eyes  growing  dreamy  and  stupid 
in  the  sleepy  atmosphere.  There,  a  man 
rolled  over  and  stretched  himself,  with  his 
nose  to  the  ground  ;  or  another  lay  flat  on 
his  back,  his  hat  tilted  over  his  eyes. 
Even  the  birds  sang  no  more  from  the 
branches  of  the  cherry-trees. 

At  this  very  time  in  Nancy,  at  the  Grand- 
Hotel  on  the  Place  Stanislas,  there  was  a 
continual  going  and  coming  of  officers  in 
te)iue,  the  reason  being  that  an  inspector- 
general  on  a  tour  was  receiving  reports  and 
giving  orders  there.  The  vestibules  were 
gay  with  uniforms  of  all  arms,  and  the 
steps  loud  with  clinking  swords.  It  was 
like  the  wings  of  a  theatre  on  a  spectac- 
ular night. 

Infantry  officers,  in  vivid  brick-red 
trousers  and  caps,  dark  tunics  and  brown 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  53 

gloves ;  light  cavalry  in  sky-blue,  with  ma- 
genta stripes,  and  white  frogs  across  the 
breast;  the  gendarmerie^  in  handsome 
blue,  with  black  stripes  and  white  decora- 
tions; cuirassiers,  engineers  and  commis- 
sariat officers,  .vieing  with  each  other  for 
gaudiness,  —  nothing  could  be  more  brill- 
iant, more  like  opera  bouffe  for  unaccus- 
tomed eyes.  The  sober  uniform  of  the 
artillery  came  as  a  real  relief.  A  detail  of 
dragoons  waited  at  the  entrance  to  escort 
the  general  and  his  suite  upon  their  rounds, 
after  the  grand  banquet  with  regimental 
music,  which  was  just  going  on,  should  be 
over. 

NIGHT. 

The  afternoon  waned  at  Besan^on. 
There  was  a  decorous  gathering  of  citizens 
and  officers  in  the  Promenade  Micaud  by 
the  Doubs ;  the  river-bath  was  crowded 
with  a  noisy  troop  of  boys;  washerwomen 
knelt  on  the  banks,  scrubbing  and  pound- 
ing their  linen ;  a  dusty  battalion  returned 


54       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

from  rifle  practice  with  a  burst  of  music ; 
disbanded  soldiers  leaned  on  the  parapets, 
smoking  at  their  ease,  alternately  saluting 
officers  or  teasing  the  country-girls,  home- 
ward bound. 

Later  on,  perhaps,  a  band  will  play  in 
the  charming  little  garden  of  Granvelle, 
where  the  same  citizens  will  probably  re- 
appear with  their  wives  and  daughters.  Of- 
ficers of  all  arms  are  going  to  sit  over 
their  absinthe  and  dominos  at  the  Cercle 
Militaire ;  civilian  sportsmen  will  do  the 
same  at  the  Cercle  Nautique.  There  is 
sure  to  be  everywhere  a  great  deal  of  civil- 
ity and  good  manners,  but  not  much 
hilarity,  unless  it  be  shown  by  a  few  sol- 
diers, returning  arm  in  arm  to  their  bar- 
racks, singing  out  of  tune. 

In  the  evening  a  wedding  party  drove  up 
before  a  country  inn,  within  a  mile  or  two 
of  Besan^on,  to  drink  and  dance  till  late 
at  night.  Old  and  young  sat  at  table  in 
noisy  confusion.  Some  wavering  horns 
played    for     the     dancers.      At    intervals 


ON    THt:    P^RENCH    FRONTIER.  55 

heated  couples  rushed  out  into  the  garden 
or  up  the  road,  with  their  arms  about  each 
other,  —  flushed,  laughing,  pushing  and 
caressing  each  other  in  awkward  abandon. 
But,  curiously  enough,  a  great  powder- 
vault  had  been  placed  around  the  corner 
from  the  inn,  a  mass  of  masonry,  with  iron 
gates  leading  into  the  hill-side,  kept  ready 
for  war,  for  that  great  catastrophe  w^hich 
oppresses  so  cruelly,  even  by  anticipation. 

It  was  a  sort  of  memento  mori  to  the  lov- 
ers that  strolled  along  the  road. 

So,  too,  in  Nancy,  when  the  day's  work 
was  done,  good  fellowship  reigned  at  the 
Cercle  Militaire,  which  was  lodged  over  the 
Municipal  Theatre. 

The  officers,  on  entering,  hung  their 
cloaks  and  caps  in  long  rows  up  the  wind- 
ing stairs,  then  passed  into  the  assembly 
room  to  play  backgammon  and  cards,  and 
sip  liqueurs.  New-comers  were  greeted 
with  frank  courtesy,  and  in  a  spirit  of 
genial  wit.  The  prevailing  amusements 
seemed  almost  childish,  but  not  silly,  for  in 


56       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

France  fun  never  degenerates  into  buffoon- 
ery, but  always  preserves  a  certain  some- 
thing of  delightful  formality.  Moreover, 
there  was  none  of  the  toilet  and  painful 
stiffness  of  the  German  officers.  Indeed, 
a  certain  indifference  to  dress  seemed  quite 
the  thing.  These  men  were  not  tall,  on  an 
average,  wore  the  regulation  moustache 
and  under-lip  goatee,  and  their  heads  were 
close-cropped. 

When  it  grew  dark,  some  of  them  went 
over  to  the  gilded  cafe^  to  smoke  and  see 
the  papers.  Several  mounted  into  a  room 
upstairs,  of  which  the  windows  were  care- 
fully screened,  and  passed  the  night  at  the 
gaming  tables. 

A  few  of  the  handsome  women  of  the 
town  dropped  in  from  time  to  time,  to 
stake  their  earnings  or  lure  the  winners. 
Good  manners,  however,  were  strictly  main- 
tained, except  that  for  a  moment  a  dispute 
arose  over  a  doubtful  stake,  because  a 
woman  had  advanced  her  money  hesitat- 
ingly.    It  was  a  question  whether  the  gold 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  57 

lay  fairly  on  the  table  before  the  trick  was 
called.  The  dealer,  meanwhile,  smoked 
cigarettes  without  ceasing,  his  hat  tilted 
on  the  back  of  his  head,  never  losing  his 
phenomenal  quickness  in  making  change 
for  winners  and  losers. 

At  one  o'clock  the  lights  were  put  out, 
and  many  of  the  players  drilled  their  men 
a  few  hours  later  at  rkveille. 

But  the  frontier  never  sleeps.  No 
sooner  are  the  lights  put  out  in  one  place 
than  they  blaze  up  again  farther  north  or 
south.  And  so  that  night,  Nancy  had 
barely  sunk  to  rest  before  the  call  to  arms 
rang  through  the  town  of  Toul,  setting  in 
motion  a  whole  regiment,  to  manoeuvre  on 
the  plain  of  the  Meuse. 

It  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  The 
soldiers  of  one  division  wore  white  bands 
on  their  kepis^  to  mark  them  as  the  enemy. 
The  infantry  marched  and  countermarched 
through  the  summer  darkness  ;  the  artillery 
stood  in  hiding  on  the  hill-sides ;  the  en- 
gineers dug  trenches  in  the  plowed  fields, 


58       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

ran  for  positions,  or  lay,  cramped  and  wet, 
waiting  for  orders.  As  day  dawned,  the 
whole  action  could  be  beautifully  watched 
from  a  captive  balloon  that  swung  high  in 
the  air  above  a  neighboring  hill,  like  a  soap- 
bubble. 

Later  in  the  day  the  regiment  returned 
to  Toul,  but  with  music,  and  flags  flying, 
as  though  from  victory.  Men  and  horses 
were,  of  course,  muddy  and  tired,  hungry 
and  thirsty.  More  than  that,  the  soldiers 
were  loaded  for  war,  carrying  a  complete 
outfit  of  ammunition,  clothing  and  pro- 
visions. Even  tiny  fagots  of  wood,  for 
kindling  fires,  lay  on  the  top  of  their  knap- 
sacks. They  trudged  bravely  by  in  their 
barbaric  uniforms  of  crude  reds,  yellows 
and  blues.  Their  baggy  trousers,  soiled 
gaiters  and  boots,  heavy  with  mire,  gave 
them  a  certain  grotesque  appearance ;  but 
they  looked  willing,  cheery  and  intelligent 
in  all  their  fatigue. 

And,  when  the  time   comes,  these   fine 


ON    THE    FRENCH    FRONTIER.  59 

fellows  will  glow  with  a  sullen  frenzy  of 
revenge. 

Two  hours  after  the  declaration  of  war, 
every  French  soldier  on  the  frontier  will 
be  in  his  place,  to  start  on  the  campaign. 
Nancy  lies  only  four  hours'  trot  from 
German  soil ;  Pont-a-Mousson  only  two. 
Before  the  signal  has  fairly  resounded  in 
Europe,  the  cavalry  and  artillery  of  the 
two  armies  will  be  galloping  towards  each 
other,  and  manoeuvring  for  positions,  long 
since  established  by  the  general  staffs  of 
both  armies. 

Beyond  that  imaginary  line,  over  in  Ger- 
many, another  set  of  peasants  have  been 
dressed  up  in  a  different  uniform.  They 
wear  helmets  instead  of  kepis ;  they  call 
their  smokeless  magazine  rifle  by  another 
name ;  they  use  different  oaths  upon  their 
officers  w^hen  the  latter's  backs  are  turned. 
But,  as  for  the  rest,  the  peasants  on  both 
sides  plow  within  sight  of  each  other ; 
they  meet  at  market,  and  sometimes  drink 
to  each  other  on  the  sly. 


6o       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

It  seems  to  them  a  waste  of  time  to 
spend  three  and  four  years  of  their  lives 
learning  to  kill  each  other. 

The  same  clouds  float  over  them,  the 
same  winds  sweep  their  fields,  and  the 
same  rivers  wind  through  their  plains. 
The  birds  make  their  nests  impartially 
on  either  side,  the  flowers  grow  as  gayly, 
and  the  rows  of  poplars  pass  from  one 
country  to  the  other,  —  without  a  break. 


JEANNE    D'aRC. —  HASTIEN    l.K    I'AGE. 


VII. 

JEANNE  D'ARC'S  LAND. 

ON  a  day  when  the  meadows  of 
Lorraine  were  fairly  throbbing  with 
the  flutter  and  trills  of  the  larks,  I  trudged 
from  the  railroad  station  of  Domremy- 
Maxey  to  the  hamlet  of  Domremy-la- 
Pucelle,  the  birthplace  of  Jeanne  d'Arc. 

I  found  the  place  to  be  a  cluster  of 
poor  mortar  houses,  sheltering  not  quite 
three  hundred  souls.  It  nestled  against  a 
low  ridge,  covered  partly  with  vineyards, 
partly  with  woods. 

Following  a  road  that  mounted  gently 
from  behind  the  hamlet  among  the 
vines,  I  came  to  the  Bois  Chenu,  the 
holy  of  holies,  where  Jeanne  had  her 
visions.  From  the  steps  of  a  commem- 
orative basilica,  recently  built,  my  eye 
ranged  over  the  broad  valley  of  the 
Meuse.       The    land    was    sown     in    long 


62       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

Strips  of  many  colors,  like  variegated  rib- 
bons; a  train  of  cars  rumbled  afar  off, 
as  it  turned  a  sharp  curve;  straight, 
white  highways  crossed  from  one  village 
to  another,  between  rows  of  rigid  poplars 
that  rustled  their  silver  leaves  in  the 
breeze.  Two  mounted  gendarmes  rode 
slowly  along,  side  by  side,  saying  nothing. 
Women  in  large  sunbonnets  were  bending 
to  their  work  in  the  fields.  At  intervals 
long  streamers  of  sunlight  broke  through 
the  clouds  and  passed  rapidly  across  coun- 
try, like  the  rays  of  an  electric  search-light. 
Here  it  was  that  Jeanne,  between  the 
ages  of  twelve  and  eighteen,  received  the 
visitations  of  those  mysterious  voices 
which  urged  her  to  go  forth,  exhort  the 
king  and  save  France  from  the  English 
invaders. 

The  home  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  is  in 
reality  an  old-fashioned  farm-house,  some 
what  embellished  in  the  style  of  the 
fifteenth    century.      It    has    the    sloping. 


JEANNE    d'aRC's    LAND.  63 

one-sided  roof,  characteristic  of  French 
farm-houses.  The  old  tiles,  once  red, 
are  now  a  russet-brown.  The  windows 
are  framed  in  stone.  The  narrow  door- 
way is  carried  up  into  a  richly -carved 
Gothic  point,  which  contains  the  fleur- 
de-lis  of  France  and  the  coats  of  arms 
of  the  allied  families  of  Thiesselin  and 
d'Arc.  Above  is  the  strangely  modern- 
sounding  motto  ^^Vive  Labeur,  1481,"  and 
below  "  Vive  le  Roi  Louisa 

A  niche  over  the  door-way  contains  a 
statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc,  kneeling,  bare- 
headed, with  folded  hands,  and  clad  in 
a  complete  suit  of  armor, —  greaves,  breast- 
plate and  all.  A  sword  hangs  by  her 
side.  Her  hair  falls  down  her  back  in 
long  waves,  and  her  woman's  form  shows 
plainly  in  the  cut  of  her  knightly  accou- 
trements. The  steel-clad  maid  does  not 
lose  by  her  mannish  attire,  like  the 
modern  woman  who,  undeterred  by  out- 
ward, conventional  considerations,  changes 
her  very  dress  to   suit   new   conditions,  if 


64       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

need  be,  at  the  same  time  retaining  the 
eternally  feminine  throughout  her  contact 
with  the  world  of  work. 

Think  of  a  girl  in  1431  daring  to  say, 
"As  for  the  works  of  women,  there  are 
plenty  of  other  women  to  do  them." 

The  first  room  you  enter  is  the  kitchen, 
and  general  living-room  of  the  family. 
Here  Jeanne  probably  spent  many  a 
winter  evening,  sewing  by  the  firelight 
and  listening  to  tales  of  English  in- 
vasion, brought  by  wandering  pilgrims. 
Jeanne's  bedroom  is  bare  and  badly 
lighted  by  a  tiny  square  window.  A 
third  room  was  used  as  a  cellar,  and  a 
fourth  by  Jeanne's  brothers. 

The  general  impression  is  that  of  a 
damp  and  dingy  house,  long  uninhabited. 
But,  in  reality,  Jeanne's  father  was  a  well- 
to-do  yeoman  and  a  local  magistrate ;  his 
house  is  even  now  one  of  the  best  in 
the  village. 

Jeanne  worshipped  oftenest  in  the  par- 
ish   church.     Indeed,   she    was    by   nature 


JEANNE    d'aRC'S    LAND.  65 

intensely  religious.  The  keynote  of  her 
life  was  devotion,  —  to  God,  to  the  saints, 
to  the  king.  The  call  of  duty,  as  she 
conceived  it,  was  supreme  for  her  over 
every  other  consideration. 

"  If  I  had  had  a  hundred  fathers  and 
a  hundred  mothers,"  she  once  exclaimed, 
*'  if  I  had  been  a  king's  daughter,  still 
would  I  have  gone  forth." 

Whatever  may  be  the  explanation  of 
the  voice  that  haunted  Jeanne,  she  herself 
had  no  doubts  about  its  origin. 

"  I  firmly  believe,  as  firmly  as  I  believe 
in  the  Christian  faith,  and  that  God  has 
redeemed  us  from  the  pains  of  hell,  that 
this  voice  is  from  God." 

She  resisted  the  subtle  interpretation  of 
the  questioner  at  her  trial,  who  suggested 
that  she  imagined  voices,  as  one  sometimes 
thinks  to  hear  and  understand  certain 
words  amid  the  sound  of  bells  ringing. 
The  voice  was  too  real ;  its  prophecies 
too  true  for  her. 

The  judge,  probing  for  some  pretext 
to  condemn,  asked : 


66       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

"What  were  you  doing  yesterday  morn- 
ing when  the  voice  came  to  you  ?  " 

"I  was  sleeping;  it  woke  me." 

"  By  touching  your  arm  .''  " 

"  It  woke  me  without  touching." 

"  And  what  said  the  voice  ?  " 

"  It  told  me  to  answer  boldly,  and  that 
God  would  help  me." 

The  good  old-fashioned  word  inspiration 
no  longer  satisfies  us.  Was  Jeanne  a 
psychic  medium,  or  a  victim  of  auto- 
suggestion ? 

When  you  have  read  the  mystic  words 
of  this  peasant  woman,  and  puzzled  over 
the  nature  of  her  visions,  go  to  Nancy, 
the  capital  of  this  same  land,  Lorraine. 
Perhaps  there  you  may  find  a  strangely 
modern  answer  to  your  mediaeval  puzzle 
in  the  hospital  now  become  famous  the 
world  over  for  the  experiments  in  hypno- 
tism which  have  been  conducted  there. 

A  young  girl  lies  in  the  hospital  ward, 
with  body  relaxed,  hearing  everything,  but 
subject  to  the  will  of  the  doctor. 


JEANNE    d'aRC'S    LAND.  67 

"  Look  at  me,  and  think  only  of  sleep. 
Your  eyelids  will  close ;  you  cannot  raise 
them." 

She  has  become  inert,  plastic  and  obe- 
dient. The  doctor  proceeds  to  fill  her 
mind  with  hallucinations. 

She  sees  an  imaginary  rose.  She 
touches  it,  smells  it,  describes  it,  turns  it 
about,  admires  it.  Then  it  disappears 
and  the  girl  looks  disappointed. 

He  makes  her  play  with  an  imaginary 
ring  on  her  finger,  a  bracelet  on  her  arm, 
or  a  fan  in  her  hand.  Suddenly  she 
takes  hold  of  the  sheet  of  her  bed.  She 
goes  through  all  the  motions  of  washing 
and  ironing  it,  omitting  no  detail,  even 
putting  in  a  few  stitches  where  she  fancies 
it  needs  mending.  Once  she  raises  her 
finger  hastily  to  her  mouth  :  she  imagines 
she  has  pricked  herself  with  the  needle. 

The  doctor  now  causes  the  patient  to 
enact  a  little  play. 

First,  she  hears  military  music  in  the 
courtyard    of    the    hospital.       The    brisk 


68       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

measure  and  full,  joyous  tones  make 
her  smile  with  pleasure.  But  the  next 
instant  a  look  of  surprise  comes  over  her 
face :  the  soldiers  are  tramping  up  the 
stairs,  two  by  two,  drawing  nearer  every 
instant.  She  starts  in  dismay  and  pulls 
the  bedclothes  about  her,  for  the  soldiers 
have  opened  the  door  and  now  fill  the 
room.  Worse  than  that,  the  girl  shrinks 
all  at  once  with  fright  close  up  to  the 
wall,  and  screams:  a  drunken  officer  has 
tried  to  throw  his  arms  around  her.  In 
another  moment  she  is  seen  to  give  some- 
body a  box  on  the  ear,  while  she  calls 
lustily  for  the  nurse. 

Yes ;  and  these  hallucinations  can  be- 
come self-made  after  awhile,  in  certain 
cases.  By  means  of  auto-suggestion, 
doubtless  an  unconscious  process,  many 
men  and  perhaps  more  women  have  fitted 
themselves  for  great  missions  on  this 
earth. 

Contrast  the  mediasval  maid  in  the  Bois 
Chenu,    and    the    modern    maid     in    the 


JEANNE    d'ARC'S    LAND.  69 

hospital  of  Nancy.  Is  not  the  world 
walking  the  brink  of  great  discoveries, 
which  may  some  day  explain  many  mys- 
teries of  our  present  life,  and  strip  not 
a  few  masks  from  history. 


VIII. 
THE   GERMANIA. 

ONCE  a  year,  when  the  spring  is 
young  and  the  nightingales  caress 
the  air  of  dusk,  the  huge  bronze  Ger- 
mania  relaxes  from  her  triumphant  pose 
and  becomes  a  woman  again. 

She  lowers  the  imperial  crown  of  Ger- 
many, which  she  has  held  aloft  for  a 
whole  year;  she  lays  aside  the  two-edged 
sword  she  has  grasped  so  firmly,  —  and 
turns  to  see  how  her  clothes  set  at  the 
back. 

Last  year  I  was  hiding  under  the  trees 
of  the  Niederwald,  near  by,  when  the 
Germania  woke  from  her  trance. 

She  looked  down  the  vine-clad  slope 
on  which  she  stood,  across  the  Rhine  to 
Bingen,  and  beyond  to  Alsace  and  France. 
She  sighed,  as  though  she  would  like  to 
step  down  from  her  great  stone  pedestal. 
70 


THE    GERMANIA.  7 1 

It  was  hard  work  posing  as  a  martial 
goddess,  when  her  soul  yearned  for  peace 
and  love.  But  she  dared  not  leave  her 
post  —  she,  "  Die  Wacht  am  Rhehi  "  —  as 
long  as  old  William  I.  sat  quietly  on  horse- 
back in  the  bronze  frieze  on  her  pedestal, 
surrounded  by  the  great  men  who  labored 
for  the  unification  of  Germany,  —  Unser 
Fdtz,  Bismarck,  Moltke,  Ludwig  of  Ba- 
varia, and  others. 

The  Germania  stood  for  a  long  time 
listening  to  the  nightingales.  Occasionally 
the  sound  of  a  dog  barking  came  up  from 
Bingen,  or  some  one  hammered  among  the 
shipping  on  the  Rhine.  The  moon  finally 
rose.  A  damp,  delicious  woodland  smell 
came  to  her  nostrils.  She  felt  the  balmy 
night  air  strike  upon  her  shoulders  and 
bare  arms,  and  a  thrill  seemed  to  run 
through  her  from  head  to  foot. 

After  that  I  saw  her  lean  forward  in  the 
moonlight,  with  set  eyes,  and  make  strange, 
slow  passes  in  the  air,  like  a  magician. 
Before  long    her  face  looked    less  severe, 


72        LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

she  smiled,  and  then  laughed  softly  to 
herself.  No  wonder  she  laughed,  for  she 
had  waked  from  their  trance  all  the  figures 
on  her  monument. 

Old  William  I.  shifted  his  position 
slightly  in  the  saddle,  Unser  Fritz  tried  to 
get  at  his  cigar-case,  Bismarck,  Moltke 
and  Ludwig  of  Bavaria  exchanged  sur- 
prised glances.  Even  the  symbolical  statues 
of  War  and  Victory  moved  a  little,  while 
recumbent  Father  Rhine  turned  over,  and 
the  fierce  Reichsadler  rustled  its  feathers. 

The  aged  emperor  turned  to  the  only 
man  among  his  attendants  who  was  still 
really  alive. 

"  Chancellor,"  he  said,  "  how  are  the  af- 
fairs of  our  realm  this  year  ?  " 

Bismarck  bit  his  lip.  Then,  with  that 
tone  of  filial  reverence,  which  he  was  in 
the  habit  of  using  towards  his  dear  master, 
he  answered,  simply, — 

"Your  majesty  has  not  yet  heard  that 
your  grandson  dismissed  me  from  office 
soon  after  he  came  to  the  throne." 


THE    GERMANIA.  73 

These  words  created  a  great  stir  among 
the  figures  on  the  monument.  A  veritable 
buzz  of  conversation  arose.  Unser  P'ritz 
alone  said  nothing,  but  puffed  contentedly 
at  his  cigar. 

William  I.  drew  Bismarck  affectionately 
to  his  side,  and  leaned  down  to  speak  in 
confidence. 

"  Tell  me,  how  did  it  happen  ?  " 

The  two  old  friends  were  seen  to  remain 
a  few  moments  in  whispered  conversation. 
After  that  Bismarck  said,  aloud,  — 

"  But  he  has  since  heaped  me  with 
honors  ;  and  the  fatherland  keeps  my  birth- 
days like  national  holidays.  I  do  not 
complain.  I  have  retired  to  Frieder- 
ichsruh  to  rest." 

Moltke  stroked  his  smooth-shaven  chin, 
meditatively. 

"  But  tell  us,  my  friend,  even  if  you  are 
no  longer  in  office,  what  is  your  opinion  of 
the  state  of  the  country  ?  " 

"  For  the  present,  the  great  German 
Empire  w^e  labored  to  unite  seems  secure, 


74       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

without  and  within.  The  triple  alliance 
holds,  and  the  Socialists,  though  active,  do 
not  resort  to  violence." 

"A  powerful  Germany  in  the  centre  of 
Europe,"  spoke  William  I.,  sententiously, 
"  is  the  best  guarantee  of  peace." 

"True!"  broke  in  Moltke.  "A  State 
must  first  protect  itself  externally.  Dis- 
armament would  mean  national  ruin. 
After  all,  scientific  war  is  a  civilizing  agent ; 
it  proves  beneficial  in  the  long  run." 

Unser  Fritz  fidgeted  a  little,  but  said 
nothing. 

"And  art?"  asked  Ludwig  of  Bavaria, 
with  a  lofty  raising  of  the  brows.  "  What 
place  do  you  assign  to  her  amid  the  influ- 
ences that  make  the  nation  ?  " 

Nobody  answered.  The  mad  king, 
drawing  himself  to  his  full  height,  looked 
about  him  with  glowing  eyes. 

"  Our  Germany  is  sunk  in  a  military 
materialism,  before  which  everything  is 
sacrificed.  I  have  tried  to  counteract 
the    tendency    by    building    my    palaces. 


THE    GERMANIA.  75 

But  take  this  very  monument  of  which 
we  form  a  part.  It  bristles  with  heavy 
defiance.  Our  figures  betray  the  can- 
nons out  of  which  they  are  moulded. 
That  statue  of  Germania  above  us,  which 
ought  to  represent  the  culmination  of 
German  art,  is  nothing  but  an  overgrown, 
clumsy  war  goddess." 

Everybody  looked  up.  The  Germania 
who  had  been  leaning  forward  and  lis- 
tening with  considerable  interest  to  the 
conversation,  now  drew  back  resentfully. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  King  Ludwig,"  she 
blurted  out  quickly,  "  you  had  better  pay 
for  your  palaces  before  you  talk  of  raising 
the  tone  of  the  German  nation  with 
them." 

Bismarck  nudged  Moltke  and  chuckled 
with  delight.  Old  William  looked  puzzled 
and  a  little  shocked. 

Unser  Fritz  drew  his  cigar  from  his 
mouth  for  a  moment,  while  he  said, — 

"  She  is  the  new  woman." 

As    this    was    the    first    time    he    had 


76       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

spoken,  his  companions  glanced  at  him, 
expecting  an  explanation.  But  he  volun- 
teered none.  His  handsome,  manly  face 
merely  smiled  at  them  pleasantly. 

Fortunately  King  Ludwig  did  not  hear 
what  the  Germania  was  saying.  His  eyes 
roamed  tragically  up  and  down  the  Rhine, 
now  bathed  in  moonlight.  For  an  instant 
it  seemed  as  though  he  was  about  to 
disengage  himself  from  the  frieze,  and 
plunge  down  the  slope  into  the  swift- 
flowing  gold  of  the  river.  But  the 
suicidal  mood  passed  as  suddenly  as  it 
came. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  anything  in 
the  Russian  and  French  entente  V^  now 
asked  William  I.  of  Bismarck.  "You 
know  my  parting  words  to  my  grandson : 
'  Keep  friends  with  Russia.'  " 

"  Well,  sire,  I  do  not  believe  there  is 
any  alliance  in  the  real  sense  of  the 
word.  A  vast  autocratic  empire,  con- 
trolled absolutely  from  headquarters,  can- 
not afford  to  tie  itself  to  a  republic,  whose 


THE    GERMANIA.  77 

policy  is  subject  to  popular  approval. 
But  the  threat  of  this  alliance  is  very 
useful  in  the  Reichstag,  when  the  military 
credits  are  to  be  voted." 

Moltke  looked  interested.  "  I  trust  we 
shall  not  carry  out  the  theory  of  a  weak 
attacking  force  and  a  strong  defensive 
one.  We  do  not  want  to  reduce  our 
army  to  a  militia  force,  like  the   Swiss." 

"  No,"  continued  Bismarck ;  "  we  Ger- 
mans fear  no  one  but  God ;  at  the  same 
time  we  like  to  keep  our  powder  dry. 
Perhaps  some  day  the  nations  will  no 
longer  need  to  apply  the  better  part  of 
their  revenues  to  armaments." 

Unser  Fritz  threw  away  the  stump  of 
his  cigar. 

"  Is  there  not  a  very  easy  way  of 
hastening  that  happy  day  even  now  ? " 
he  said,  suddenly. 

William  I.  smiled  indulgently.  The 
Prince  had  always  been  a  good  deal  of 
a  crank. 

"  Declare    free    trade    with    the    world," 


78       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

the  Prince  cried,  enthusiastically,  "  and  you 
will  have  peace.  Protective  tariffs,  so- 
called,  destroy  the  natural  brotherhood  of 
nations.  They  bring  estrangements,  jeal- 
ousies, imputations  of  evil  motives  and 
misunderstandings  without  end." 

"  But,  Prince,  we  have  our  commercial 
treaties,"  retorted  Bismarck. 

"  It  is  true,  they  are  a  step  in  the 
right  direction.  But,  after  all,  artificial 
reciprocity  is  based  on  the  silly  assump- 
tion, that  people  do  not  know  what  goods 
they  want  to  exchange,  and  must  be 
guided  in  their  selection." 

"We  need  the  revenue  from  indirect 
taxation." 

"  You  think  you  do,  because  you  have 
neglected  the  principal  source  of  direct 
taxation,  namely,  land  values." 

Bismarck's  moustache  began  to  bristle 
visibly. 

"  Prince,  you  were  ever  hard  on  our  land- 
owners. What  would  you  do  without  the 
Yunker  ?     Where  would  you  get  your  offi- 


THE    GERMANIA.  79 

cers  lor  the  army,  if  you  destroyed  the 
landed  aristocracy  ? " 

"  I  would  not  care  what  became  of  the 
army,  as  long  as  justice  prevailed.  The 
army  might  even  be  abolished." 

A  horrified  murmur  ran  through  the 
frieze.  Old  William  tried  ineffectually  to 
turn  the  conversation  upon  less  sensa- 
tional topics.  The  Germania,  who  had 
been  looking  wearily  away  to  the  horizon 
during  this  discussion,  now  clapped  her 
hands  gleefully.  This  was  the  first  radical 
utterance  she  had  ever  heard  from  the 
frieze. 

The  two  men  faced  each  other  with 
determination. 

"  The  army  is  an  internal  means  of  edu- 
cation," began  Bismarck,  trying  to  speak 
calmly.  "  It  trains  the  nation  physically 
and  morally." 

Unser  Fritz  squared  his  stately  figure. 
His  bearded  face  did  not  lose  its  complete 
composure. 

"  True  ;  but  is  it  necessary  to  take  men 


8o       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

from  their  life-work  during  their  most  im- 
portant years,  and  then  teach  them  the 
science  of  killing  their  fellow-men  in  order 
to  impart  this  training?  Chancellor,  you 
know  me  for  a  soldier.  We  have  fought 
side  by  side,  but  let  me  tell  you  that  I 
loathe  this  profession.  It  is  a  survival 
from  a  savage  past,  when  men  fought  for 
a  foothold  on  this  earth." 

"  You  speak  like  a  Socialist,  Prince." 

"  Call  me  what  you  will,  but  you  shall 
hear  me.  If  I  had  had  more  than  my 
ninety  days  of  reign,  the  world  would  have 
known  me  for  what  I  am." 

Unser  Fritz  turned  his  eyes  over  the 
moonlit  land,  and  continued  : 

"  This  earth  belongs  equally  to  all  men. 
None  of  us  can  add  or  subtract  an  atom 
from  its  bulk;  none  of  us  can,  therefore, 
own  it,  though  all  are  entitled  to  use  it. 

"  Now  taxation  can  regulate  this  usufruct 
to  the  earth's  surface  in  an  equitable  man- 
ner. Take  for  public  purposes  what  be- 
long to  the  public,  by  faxing  land  according 


THE    GERMANIA.  8  I 

to  its  value,  but  leave  to  individuals  all  that 
they  produce." 

A  perfect  uproar  now  ensued,  which 
even  the  presence  of  the  venerable  em- 
peror was  unable  to  check.  Not  only  did 
Bismarck,  Moltke  and  Ludwig  of  Bavaria 
all  try  to  talk  at  once,  but  the  symbolical 
figure  of  War  brandished  a  sword  ex- 
citedly, while  Victory  blew  loudly  on  a 
horn.  The  recumbent  Father  Rhine  rolled 
over  and  over,  and  the  Reichsadler 
screeched  dismally. 

The  Germania  could  hardly  contain 
herself  for  joy.  She  danced  upon  her 
pedestal  with  the  absolute  abandon  of  the 
new  woman,  until  suddenly  she  saw  the 
moon  set  behind  the  trees  of  the  Nieder- 
wald,  and  she  realized  that  the  day  would 
soon  dawn,  bringing  the  usual  crowd  of 
sight-seers  to  the  monument. 

With  a  mighty  effort  she  pulled  herself 
together.  A  last  glance  down  upon  the 
frieze  showed  her  that  the  unifiers  of  Ger- 
many might  come  to  blows  any  moment. 


82       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG   WORLD. 

She  leaned  forward,  with  outstretched 
arms.  "  Hush,  the  dawn  ! "  she  whispered. 
Her  eyes  once  more  grew  fixed.  She  made 
her  mysterious  passes.  The  noise  ceased. 
One  by  one  the  figures  on  the  monument 
relapsed  into  their  habitual  positions,  each 
trying  in  vain  to  say  a  last  word. 

When  all  was  still,  the  Germania  took 
a  final  look  across  the  Rhine  towards 
France.  She  shook  out  her  flowing  gown 
with  a  backward  kick  of  her  foot,  grasped 
her  two-edged  sword  firmly,  and  raised  the 
imperial  crown  of  Germany  on  high. 
Within  her  the  soul  of  a  woman  turned 
to  bronze. 

Soon  after  the  nightingales  sang  to  the 
dawn. 


IX. 

A    SUNDAY    IN   VIENNA. 

THERE  is  no  New  England  Sabbath 
in  Vienna.  Whatever  may  be  the 
opinion  of  the  city  in  regard  to  a  goody- 
goody  heaven  and  a  brimstone  hell  in  the 
morning,  in  the  afternoon  everybody 
believes  that  the  better  the  day,  the  better 
the  deed. 

That  is  why  on  a  Sunday  two  great 
streams  of  pleasure-seekers  flow  in  op- 
posite directions,  out  to  the  gardens 
of  Schloss  Schonbrunn,  or  the  beloved 
Prater.  Those  who  ride  in  carriages, 
those  who  take  the  trains,  and  those  who 
walk,  together  form  a  vast  population  that 
moves  forward  with  irresistible  momentum. 

When  one  of  these  streams  has  passed 
the  last  rows  of  new  city  houses,  it  is 
confronted  by  a  long  cream-colored  build- 
ing,—  the  Imperial  Palace  of  Schonbrunn. 
83 


84       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

This  place  is  sufficiently  plain  in  itself  to 
act  as  an  admirable  foil  to  the  glorious 
gardens  at  the  back. 

There,  indeed,  Art  has  triumphed  over 
Nature. 

A  superb  stretch  of  rising  ground 
sweeps  from  the  palace  up  to  an  elaborate 
colonnaded  gloriette,  or  belvedere,  built 
in  rococco,  on  the  crest.  The  intervening 
ground  is  laid  out  in  large  flower-beds, 
wide  gravelled  walks  and  strips  of  lawn. 
At  intervals  statues  gleam  from  the  shrub- 
bery. There  is  room  for  a  multitude  to 
saunter  without  jostling.  About  midway 
to  the  top  a  fountain,  benymphed  and  be- 
neptuned,  full  of  marble  dolphins  and  live 
goldfish,  sprays  the  holiday  air  with  con- 
scious pride,  for  the  whole  place  is  named 
after  it,  —  Schonbrunn. 

But  most  wonderful  of  all  are  the 
forests  that  flank  this  brilliant  slope. 
They  are  pierced  by  avenues,  radiating  in 
straight  lines  from  the  palace  to  the  re- 
motest   corners    of    the    grounds.       Their 


A    SUNDAY    IN    VIENNA.  85 

lofty  trees  are  clipped  with  absolute  preci- 
sion, like  the  boxwood  hedges  of  an  old- 
fashioned  garden.  So  great  is  the  dis- 
tance, that  these  avenues  fairly  lose 
themselves  in  dim  vistas,  where,  at  the  end, 
their  green  sides  seem  to  meet,  and  earth 
and  sky  come  to  a  point.  You  feel  your- 
self caught  in  one  of  those  tantalizing 
dreams  which  lure  you  on  and  on  towards 
an  ever-receding  goal. 

Artificial  ?  Yes ;  but  the  scale  is  hercu- 
lean. The  gardeners  of  Schonbrunn  appar- 
ently believed  that  they  could  improve 
upon  nature ;  and  what  is,  perhaps,  more 
wonderful  still,  they  have  almost  persuaded 
us  that  they  were  right.  We  can  readily 
believe  that  they  protested  against  droop- 
ing and  arching  branches  as  decidely  bad 
form ;  that  they  would  like  to  have  painted 
the  sky  some  permanent  shade  to  match 
their  flower-beds ;  to  change  the  scents 
of  certain  blossoms ;  to  temper  the  breeze 
and  regulate  the  rainfall  according  to 
some  etiquette,  prescribed  at  court. 


86       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

The  city  crowd  wanders  at  will  through 
these  hiarvellous  gardens.  We  imagine 
the  avenues  once  peopled  by  simpering 
shepherdesses  in  Watteau  gowns,  tripping 
on  over-high  heels,  handling  crooks  tied 
with  ribbons ;  at  their  sides,  lovers  all 
lace  and  ruffles,  making  well-worn  compli- 
ments. On  the  benches  we  are  ready  to 
see  dainty  coquettes,  planning  intrigues 
under  their  enormous  coiffures,  that  are 
no  more  real  than  they.  Throw  in  a 
wicked  dowager  or  two,  some  snuff-taking 
diplomats,  a  soldier  with  conquering  air; 
besprinkle  everybody  with  much  paint  and 
powder  and  not  a  few  familiar  perfumes. 
Then  tie  the  whole  with  ribbons,  pink  and 
blue,  —  that  may  have  been  Schonbrunn 
in  the  age  of  rococco. 

Nowadays  the  grounds  are  open  to  all. 
There  is  even  a  little  menagerie  for  "  the 
people,"  to  use  this  term  in  its  feudal 
sense.  And,  indeed,  queer  specimens 
from  the  utmost  ends  of  that  strange  poly- 
glot  Austrian    Empire    find   their   way   to 


A    SUNDAY    IN    VIENNA.  87 

Schonbrunn.  I  remember  two  long-haired, 
long-coated,  unwashed  Polish  Jews,  veri- 
table Svengalis  in  their  hirsute  blackness, 
who  questioned  me  eagerly  about  the 
animals.  They  had  never  seen  a  bear ; 
they  stood  in  amazement  before  the  enor- 
mous cat,  which  was  a  lioness  ;  they  pulled 
my  sleeve  excitedly,  and  pointed  with 
greasy  fingers  at  a  huge  hen  with  storks 
legs,  the  pet  ostrich  of  the  place.  These 
grimy  brothers  must  have  issued  from 
some  dank  city  slums,  forever  cut  off  from 
the  world. 

But  the  women  of  Vienna  saunter  about, 
altogether  at  their  ease.  Can  they  do 
other^vise,  these  leisurely,  well-dressed 
creatures,  whose  glances  contain  endless 
possibilities  ?  Even  the  frequently  recur- 
ring Slav  type  is  fascinating,  with  its 
ugly  little  eyes  and  flat   nose. 

And  so  Sunday  will  pass  at  Schon- 
brunn in  the  midst  of  decorous  sight- 
seeing, and  not  a  little  flirtation  in  the 
forest    glades,    where    the    trees    are    not 


88       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

clipped,  but  coquettish  little  twigs  are 
allowed  to  make  advances  to  each  other 
across  the  paths,  and  even  to  throw  out 
sheltering  branches  in  order  to  shield  those 
lovers  who  desire  nothing  so  much  as  to 
be  left  alone,  and  not  noticed. 

It  is  true,  however,  that  most  of  the 
open-air  love-making  of  Vienna  is  done 
in  the  Prater. 

At  all  hours  of  the  day  tram-cars  and 
omnibuses  bring  loads  upon  loads  of 
people  to  the  circular  space  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  park,  called  the  Praterstern. 
From  there  they  distribute  themselves 
according  to  their  tastes  and  stations  in 
life.  Habit  seems  to  have  regulated  the 
pace  and  demeanor  of  the  Prater  crowd. 
There  is  no  hurrying,  and  yet  every  face 
shows  anticipation  of  amusement. 

It  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  "  the 
people "  will  stop  in  the  Wurstel  Prater, 
the  Clown  Prater,  which  is  a  veritable 
village  of  booths  with  painted  monstros- 
ities, tents  and  even  theatres ;  a  permanent 


A    SUNDAY    IN    VIENNA.  89 

fair  of  merry-go-rounds  and  beer  gardens, 
—  a  standing  joke.  The  Viennese  smile 
easily;  they  are  good-tempered;  they  like 
old  friends ;  they  never  tire  of  the  Wurstel 
Prater. 

Nowhere  can  one  be  made  to  realize 
better  the  mixture  of  nationalities  Austria 
possesses.  Tyrolese,  clad  in  gray  and 
green,  with  bare  knees,  wide  leather  belts, 
and  black  cock-feathers  in  their  felt  hats ; 
Hungarian  nurses  in  short  skirts  and  top 
boots ;  Polish  Jews,  with  cork-screw  curls ; 
peasant  women,  wearing  dresses  stiffly 
starched  that  reach  only  to  the  knee,  and 
stand  out  besides  like  the  frills  of  ballet 
dancers,  —  imagine  all  these  types,  and 
add  an  occasional  heavily -embroidered 
Dalmatian,  a  Greek  in  divided  skirt,  or  a 
soldier  of  the  Bosnian  contingent. 

A  certain  avenue,  the  Haupt-Allee,  is 
given  over  to  carriage-folk  by  tradition, 
though  the  Prater  is  everywhere  open  to 
everybody.  There  never  was  a  more  un- 
fenced    show-place    in    the    world,   but   by 


go       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

common  consent  "  the  classes "  do  not 
interfere  with  each  other,  and,  in  point 
of  fact,  really  enjoy  having  each  other 
somewhere  near.  Of  course  this  can 
only  happen  in  a  country  where  there 
is  next  to  no  chance  for  self-made 
men.  In  America  we  are  far  too  much 
afraid  of  one  another  to  let  down  the 
barriers  of  exclusiveness,  except  for  very 
decided  considerations. 

One  must  see  a  Papier- Schnitzel  evening 
in  the  exhibition  grounds  to  feel  the  com- 
plete charm  of  the  Viennese  character. 
The  Austrians  love  this  word  Schnitzel 
above  every  thing,  and  so  they  have  lately 
invented  a  carnival  game  which  gives  them 
a  chance  to  use  it  in  a  new  way.  Every- 
body is  armed  with  a  bag  full  of  thin 
paper  strips,  brightly  colored  and  crinkly. 
As  they  stroll  up  and  down  the  prom- 
enade, these  delightful  children  throw 
handfuls  of  the  light  fluffy  stuff  at  each 
other.  It  decorates  their  bonnets,  it  hangs 
from   their   beards ;    it   clings  to  the  cor- 


A    SUNDAY    IN    VIENNA.  9 1 

sage  or  the  folds  of  a  dress;  it  perches 
on  top  of  a  silk  hat ;  sometimes  it  nestles 
on  a  dear  little  neck,  where  the  love- 
curls  catch  it,  or  it  twists  about  a  wee 
shell  of  an  ear  that  immediately  looks 
rakish.  Very  often  some  gallant  seizes  a 
bunch  of  Papier  Schnitzel^  kisses  it,  puts  it 
in  his  left-hand  vest-pocket,  as  a  souvenir. 
Another  hopes  to  see  a  certain  fair  one 
again ;  she  picked  him  out  with  an  arch 
eye,  she  threw  very  hard,  and  missed  him. 
He  would  like  to  have  her  try  again,  this 
time  to  strike  him  with  her  hand,  if  need 
be,  as  long  as  she  but  touch  him. 

A  Hungarian  band  plays  in  the  open 
air  naively  savage  music,  fiddling  estab- 
lished rules  to  the  winds.  We  have  over- 
done Hungarian  bands  by  this  time  at 
home,  but  to  hear  their  music  for  the  first 
time,  alternately  rent  by  spasmodic  storms, 
and  then  lapsing  into  inexpressible  ten- 
derness, is  to  enjoy,  in  truth,  a  never- 
recurring  musical  moment. 

First  comes  an  exquisite  little  theme  in 


92       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

waltz  time,  the  unpremeditated  expression 
of  a  people  to  whom  dancing  is  like  daily 
bread.  It  swings  and  whirls  its  way 
through  several  bars,  but  after  that  a 
change  comes  upon  the  musicians,  like  the 
ruffling  of  the  sea  by  a  squall.  Without 
obvious  rhyme  or  reason  each  instrument 
seems  possessed  by  some  ungovernable 
impulse,  seeking  to  express  independently 
an  overmastering  desire.  They  go  every 
which-way,  freely,  into  ecstasies  of  passion, 
wild  laments  or  incomprehensible  vagaries. 
The  whole  forms  an  incoherent,  insane, 
cumulative  cry,  like  the  uncontrolled  howl 
of  a  mob,  which  yet  emits  a  certain  un- 
mistakable harmony. 

When  it  seems  as  though  the  musicians 
could  rise  to  no  greater  heights  of  folly, 
they  are  brought  to  reason  by  some  sud- 
den, superb  chord,  trailing  itself  out  like  a 
sigh  of  relief.  The  chaos  of  a  moment 
ago  is  instantly  reduced  to  perfect  order. 
The  musicians  dwell  upon  these  calm  notes 
with    an    air    of    satisfaction,    clinging   to 


A    SUNDAY    IN    VIENNA.  93 

them  for  safety  from  further  spasms  of 
emotion.  The  waltz  theme  once  more 
weaves  its  sinuous  swing  into  their  meas- 
ures, and  the  piece  comes  to  an  end  unex- 
pectedly, as  though  the  motive  power  of 
their  inspiration  had  given  out. 

Was  it  truth  or  fancy  that  the  whole  life 
of  the  still  half-developed  Slav  race  was 
pictured  in  that  music,  —  in  its  barbaric, 
unrestrained  bursts,  and  its  melting  moods, 
contrasting  with  each  other  ?  Certainly 
the  element  of  melancholy  asserted  itself 
throughout,  for  this  is  the  music  of  a  race 
of  dreamers,  full  of  magnificent  possibili- 
ties. 

At  nightfall  most  of  the  family  groups 
that  have  picknicked  in  the  Prater  will 
saunter  cityward.  The  carriages  of  the 
aristocracy  have  driven  by  some  time  ago. 
At  the  swell  cafes,  numbered  i,  2  and  3, 
on  the  Haupt-Allee,  rows  of  lamps  glimmer 
through  the  branches,  as  though  the  rich 
who  are  not  noble,  intend  to  keep  on  enjoy- 
ing themselves. 


94       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

But  the  principal  gayety  still  centres  in 
the  Wurstel  Prater.  Every  beer  garden 
which  hopes  to  live  in  the  hearts  of  the 
Viennese  now  piles  up  its  white-painted 
chairs,  and  makes  way  for  the  dancers. 
The  poorer  the  people  the  more  they  will 
dance,  for  it  costs  nothing  extra,  and  yet  is 
food  and  drink  to  them. 


X. 

THE  SULTAN'S  PRAYER. 

CONSTANTINOPLE  looked  like  a 
vast  encampment.  It  seemed  the 
temporary  resting-place  of  some  nomadic 
tribe,  and  not  the  permanent  home  of  that 
poor  Turkish  race  which,  day  by  day, 
withers  like  a  weed  in  the  chink  of  the 
pavement. 

As  the  crowds  passed  through  the  streets 
to  see  the  Sultan  pay  his  weekly  visit  to 
the  mosque,  jackal-dogs  slunk  about,  ferret- 
ing out  all  manner  of  foulness  in  dark 
corners,  or  slept  undisturbed  in  the  open 
spaces.  Money-changers  sat  at  their  stalls, 
haggling.  Some  hamals  (porters)  were 
climbing  the  steep  cross-streets,  stooping 
under  incredible  loads.  A  flock  of  pigeons 
strutted  with  prinked  feathers  in  the  mire, 
and  an  old  woman  held  out  a  piteous, 
trembling  hand  for  alms. 
95 


96       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

The  carriages  swept  by  Dolmabatchke, 
the  winter  palace  on  the  Bosphorus,  and 
climbed  the  elevation  to  the  Yildiz  Kiosk, 
where  Abdul  Hamid  was  then  residing. 
A  small  mosque  rose  near  by. 

The  kiosk  and  mosque  were  already 
surrounded  by  troops,  about  three  thousand 
strong,  principally  infantry  of  the  line  and 
cavalry  in  Circassian  costume.  A  Nubian 
regiment  of  coal-black  negroes  in  green 
uniforms  was  stationed  at  the  post  of 
honor.  Around  this  cordon  of  soldiery 
there  was  a  fringe  of  motley  sight-seers,  the 
flower  and  weed  of  Constantinople.  Some 
smart  carriages  were  drawn  up,  with  ladies 
of  rank  and  fashion  leaning  back  in  a 
wealth  of  gay  colors,  provokingly  hand- 
some in  their  silk  mantles  of  sky-blue, 
yellow  or  crimson,  their  faces  thinly  veiled 
with  transparent  jashrnaks.  A  mendicant 
fakeer  strode  solemnly  through  the  crowd. 
He  had  thrown  a  goatskin  over  his 
shoulder,  a  spear  was  in  his  hand,  and  a 
begging-cup  hung  by  his  side.     There  were 


THE    SULTAN  S    PRAYER.  97 

venders  of  water,  for  which  you  paid  by 
the  glassful,  and  of  strange  sweetmeats, 
made  with  oil  and  honey. 

A  sudden  silence  fell  on  the  multitude, 
broken  only  by  the  clink  of  the  sabres  as 
the  cavalry  quickly  perfected  their  align- 
ment. Then  Abdul  Hamid,  ruler  of  the 
Ottoman  Empire,  mighty  and  supreme,  was 
seen  riding  slowly  from  his  palace  on  a 
white  Arabian.  He  alone  was  on  horse- 
back, for  the  members  of  his  suite  who 
surrounded  him,  were  on  foot,  and,  indeed, 
had  difficulty  in  keeping  pace  with  his 
magnificent  stallion.  Osman  Pasha  walked 
on  the  right,  the  erect  and  sturdy  defender 
of  Plevna,  and  the  hero  of  the  army. 
Some  of  the  Sultanas  followed  in 
broughams  attended  by  eunuchs. 

As  for  the  Sultan,  he  is  a  pale-faced, 
black-bearded  Oriental,  wdth  flabby,  dis- 
passionate features,  and  shoulders  slightly 
stooping,  —  a  man  who  is  said  to  be  in 
constant  fear  of  assassination,  perhaps  on 
account    of    his    predecessor's     mysterious 


98       LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

death.  For  the  rest,  a  diplomat  of  some 
pretensions,  who  has  not  been  altogether 
without  success  in  playing  off  the  great 
powers  against  each  other. 

At  all  events  the  soldiery  cheered  bravely 
as  he  passed,  and  a  group  of  Pashas  and 
notables  stood  in  the  court  of  the  mosque 
to  salaam  to  his  majesty  as  he  disappeared 
within  the  portals. 

While  he  worshipped,  grooms  brought  a 
victoria  to  the  door,  with  other  carriages, 
from  which  he  could  select  one  for  his  re- 
turn. Also  four  superb  Arabians,  ready- 
saddled,  with  golden  cloths  and  silver  bits, 
prancing  with  arched  necks,  and  looking 
out  of  great  eyes,  full  of  spirit  and  gentle- 
ness. 

When  the  Sultan  reappeared  in  half  an 
hour,  he  chose  the  victoria,  and  drove 
rapidly  back  to  the  palace.  A  woman  in 
front  of  the  crowd  held  up  a  framed  in- 
scription, crying  out  something  at  the  same 
time.  It  might  have  been  a  petition,  or 
perhaps  a  votive  verse,  to  be  blessed  by  the 


THE    SULTAN  S    PRAYER.  99 

Sultan,  for  he  is  also  titular  head  of  all 
Mohammedans. 

At  this  moment  a  few  drops  of  rain  were 
beginning  to  fall.  The  troops  defiled,  with 
flags  flying  and  bands  playing.  The  car- 
riages, full  of  tourists,  turned  back  to  the 
city,  along  with  the  street  hawkers,  who 
had  momentarily  deserted  their  regular 
rounds.  Soon  the  kiosk  and  mosque  stood 
there  alone,  save  that  a  few  of  the  strag- 
gling poor  hung  about,  unable  to  tear  them- 
selves from  the  lingering  aroma  of  departed 
majesty. 

Who  of  us  Occidentals  can  ever  hope,  in 
our  waking  moments,  to  understand  that 
listless,  loitering  life  of  Asia?  —  Arid,  yet 
warm  ;  phlegmatic,  yet  full  of  passion. 


XI. 

DANCING  DERVISHES. 

THE  psychic  spirit  of  the  East  brooded 
over  the  city. 
The  housetops  of  Stamboul  rose,  amphi- 
theatre-like, tier  on  tier,  above  the  waters 
of  the  Golden  Horn.  On  the  sky-line  the 
mosques  and  minarets  seemed  bleached 
into  supernatural  whiteness  by  the  vivid 
sun.  Near  them  clumps  of  cypresses 
pointed  black  fingers  from  the  cemeteries. 
A  clatter  of  many  crafts,  the  hum  of 
many  languages  spanned  the  air,  as  with 
a  pulsating  web  of  sound,  and  a  sparkling 
breeze  swept  through  the  shipping  of 
the  harbor,  past  the  dingy  wharves  and 
warehouses,  and  up  to  the  stone  and 
stucco  palaces  beyond. 

In  the  afternoon  the  Dancing  Dervishes 
performed   their   ceremonies  in   an    octag- 


DANCING    DERVISHES.  lOI 

onal  wooden  building,  that  had  a  smooth, 
polished  floor.  A  part  of  this  was  railed 
off  for  spectators,  and  there  was  a  gallery 
on  one  side  for  a  miniature  orchestra. 

About  twenty  Dervishes  were  sitting 
cross-legged  around  the  hall,  each  upon 
his  sheepskin,  seemingly  absorbed  in  mys- 
tic meditation.  They  were  mostly  young 
fellows,  and  were  engaged  in  reciting 
inaudibly  the  name  of  Allah  in  endless 
repetition.  The  air  was  thick  with  an 
Oriental  foulness,  an  unwashed,  unventi- 
lated  closeness.  A  half-light  converted  the 
crude  dinginess  of  the  hall  into  mystery, 
and  something  like  spiritual  abstraction 
rested  upon  the  crouching  devotees. 

Soon  the  thin,  small  tones  of  a  reed- 
flute  came  from  the  gallery,  playing  an 
uncertain,  halting  theme,  meandering  up 
and  down  the  scale  in  meaningless  va- 
garies, that  usually  began  in  haphazard 
trills  and  died  away  in  a  long-drawn, 
dismal  w^ail,  truly  Oriental.  The  irregular 
tom-tom  of  a  drum,  primitive  and  savage 


I02    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

in  quality,  completed  this  morose  and 
wayward  music. 

As  the  drum  gave  a  louder  beat,  the 
Elder  rose  from  his  place,  the  Dervishes 
fell  on  their  faces,  and  then  sprang  to 
their  feet.     The  ceremony  had  began. 

The  Elder,  or  Sheikh,  lifted  his  hands 
in  silent  prayer  for  the  founder  of  the 
order,  bowed  toward  Mecca,  and,  wheel- 
ing round,  bowed  again  to  his  vacant 
seat.  He  then  began  to  march  slowly 
around  the  hall.  Each  Dervish  in  suc- 
cession performed  the  same  outward  rite 
at  the  Sheikh's  vacant  seat,  and  passed 
on  around  the  hall.  There  was  not  a 
little  grace  in  their  deliberate  movements, 
but  their  faces  were  set  in  sallow,  im- 
perturbable lines,  and  the  purposeless, 
incomplete  music  sounded  inharmoniously 
from  the  gallery. 

A  single  Dervish  detached  himself  from 
the  rest  and  took  up  a  position  in  the 
middle  of  the  hall,  to  act  as  director  of 
the  dancing. 


DANCING    DERVISHES.  I  03 

Having  made  the  round  of  the  hall 
three  times,  the  Dervishes,  one  by  one, 
as  they  reached  the  Sheikh's  seat,  quietly 
began  to  revolve  into  the  middle  of  the 
hall,  turning  on  the  left  foot  and  pushing 
with  the  right.  They  wore  tall  conical 
caps,  called  kichi/i,  like  sugar -loaves  in 
shape,  white  or  yellowish,  and  skirts 
reaching  to  their  ankles,  caught  in  at 
the  waist  by  narrow  cloth  girdles.  Short 
jackets  completed  a  somewhat  shabby 
and  shoddy-looking  costume. 

As  they  whirled,  the  arms  gradually 
rose  to  a  horizontal  position,  the  left 
hand  being  turned  down  and  the  right 
palm  upwards.  They  leaned  their  heads 
over  the  right  shoulder.  Their  eyes  were 
either  closed  or  fixed,  expressionless,  as 
in  a  trance. 

If  they  approached  too  near  to  one 
another,  the  director  stamped  his  foot  as 
a  warning  signal.  Their  skirts  rose  and 
stood  out,  when  the  pace  increased,  form- 
ing inflated  cones  whose  apex  was  at  the 


104    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

waist.  Their  legs  showed  beneath,  clad 
in  untidy  hosiery. 

And  still  that  harrowing  accompaniment 
inflamed  them  with  its  perverse  and  ram- 
bling trills. 

A  species  of  mute  exaltation  was  upon 
them.  One  looked  to  see  some  fall  for 
dizziness,  but  they  kept  revolting  in  mystic 
circles,  repeating  inaudibly  an  invocation  to 
Allah,  like  so  many  Ave  Marias.  It  was  a 
marvel  that  they  never  jostled  each  other, 
blindly  turning,  circle  within  circle,  each  in 
his  mad  orbit,  round  the  hall. 

The  Dervishes  claim  that  their  move- 
ment pictures  the  harmony  of  the  many- 
whirling  worlds.  In  fact,  the  central  idea 
of  the  MevJevee  Order  is  the  divine  love  of 
God,  all-embracing,  all-pervading.  They 
represent  a  sort  of  esoteric  pantheism. 
Occupying  very  much  the  same  position 
in  the  Mohammedan  religion  that  the 
monastic  orders  do  in  the  Christian,  the 
various  bodies  of  Dervishes  have  a  philos- 
ophy of  their  own,  called  Soofooism.     For 


DANCING    DERVISHES.  105 

this  reason  they  are  not  on  the  best  of 
terms  with  the  idemas  and  imams  of  the 
orthodox  priesthood. 

But  now  the  whirling  began  to  hurt  one's 
eyes,  the  subtle  reiteration  of  the  music  to 
tell  upon  the  nerves.  The  accidental, 
naive  discords  of  the  flute  and  drum  irri- 
tated beyond  measure.  They  were  like  the 
fiddler's  notes  that  set  the  bridge  a-sway- 
ing,  or  the  organ  that  makes  the  church 
windows  rattle.  They  became  truly  dis- 
tressing and  painful.  Some  of  the  insane 
folly,  which  was  whirling  the  Dervishes  in 
their  uncanny  rite,  seemed  to  enter  into 
one's  soul.  It  opened  vistas  into  a  remote, 
savage  ancestry ;  its  barbaric  persistency 
was  excruciating  to  the  senses  of  a  civil- 
ized nature.  There  was  torture  and  frenzy 
in  its  culminating  wail.  Its  spontaneous 
sombreness  pictured  vast  Asiatic  desola- 
tions, and  its  stubborn  shrillness  all 
manner  of  abominations,  —  maddening, 
disgusting,  infuriating,  driving  one  into 
a  dismal  world  of  nightmare  fancies. 


Io6    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

At  length  the  Dervishes  stopped  dan- 
cing. It  had  lasted  perhaps  ten  minutes, 
this  insensate  ceremony,  but  it  seemed  a 
whole  seon  of  sensation.  They  crouched 
upon  their  sheepskins  once  more,  appar- 
ently free  from  dizziness,  and  relapsed  into 
a  state  of  abstraction,  calling  on  Allah  in 
silent  and  mystic  repetition. 

Ah  !  it  was  well  to  breathe  the  air  of  the 
street  once  more,  even  if  the  dogs  and  dirt 
were  there,  for  at  all  events  the  minarets 
pointed  to  an  unsullied  sky,  and  a  breeze, 
that  blew  fresh  from  the  Black  Sea,  had 
set  the  caiques  dancing  on  the  Golden 
Horn. 


XII. 
FROM    SMYRNA   TO    EPHESUS. 

THERE  is  a  land,  but  little  known  to 
modern  men,  which  is  destined  some 
day  to  rival  Egypt  as  the  haunt  of  the 
winter  tourist. 

Asia  Minor  has  given  the  world  Homer, 
the  father  of  poetry  ;  Herodotus,  the  father 
of  history ;  ^sop  of  fables,  and  Pythagoras 
of  philosophy.  It  furnished  three  of  the 
seven  wise  men  of  the  Greeks,  —  Thales, 
Bias,  and  Pittacus,  —  and  built  three  of  the 
seven  wonders  of  the  ancient  world,  —  the 
Temple  of  Diana  at  Ephesus,  the  Mauso- 
leum in  Caria,  and  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes. 
It  has  contributed  at  least  four  words  to 
the  every-day  speech  of  mankind  :  its  river, 
Maeander,  has  given  us  our  expression  for 
leisurely  and  tortuous  progress ;  one  of  its 
cities.  Magnesia,  the  word  magnetism,  be- 
cause magnetic  iron  was  first  discovered  on 
107 


Io8    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

a  hill  near  by;  the  Colossus  of  Rhodes  our 
epithet  colossal ;  and  the  tomb  of  Mau- 
solus  has  named  for  all  time  every  monu- 
mental sepulchre. 

To-day  Asia  Minor  supplies  the  world 
only  with  carpets,  figs  and  licorice. 

My  friend  had  urged  that  if  I  was  going 
as  far  East  as  Constantinople,  I  might  as 
well  extend  my  trip  to  Smyrna,  and  pay 
him  a  visit  at  his  home  in  the  valley  of  the 
Maeander.  It  was  this  invitation  which 
tempted  me  upon  a  March  day  to  succumb 
to  the  spell  of  the  magnificent  desolation  of 
Asia  Minor. 

It  actually  snowed  a  little  the  day  I 
landed  in  Smyrna,  on  the  12  th  of  March. 
A  wintry  blast  had  swept  down  upon  the 
city  from  the  Black  Sea  or  the  Phrygian 
Highlands,  and  given  the  shivering,  bare- 
legged population  the  rare  spectacle  of  a 
snow-flurry.  But  the  sky  soon  cleared, 
a  cold  wind  rufifled  the  bay  into  brilliant 
blue,  and  gulls  fluttered,  screaming,  over  the 
floating  refuse  of  the  harbor. 


FROM    SMYRNA    TO    EPHESUS.  1 09 

A  young  man  had  been  sent  to  make  me 
welcome,  and  see  me  through  the  organ- 
ized brigandage  of  the  custom-house.  My 
passport,  also,  was  sent  to  receive  the 
official  vise,  before  I  could  make  my  way  to 
the  hotel,  awed  and  bewildered  amid  the 
sights  of  the  Smyrna  streets. 

The  spell  of  the  East  was  already  upon 
me. 

There  seemed  to  be  dangers  lurking  in 
every  corner,  and  plots  of  robbery  hatching 
amongst  those  armed  men,  loitering  about 
in  outlandish  dress  and  with  imperturbable 
faces. 

Before  the  cafes  petty  merchants,  from 
all  the  country  districts  and  neighboring 
islands,  lounged,  haggling  vociferously, 
while  the  cafeji  unconcernedly  filled  their 
pipes.  A  troop  of  women  passed  to  em- 
bark on  one  of  the  steamers,  —  the  harem 
of  some  rich  official,  perhaps,  —  skurrying 
along  like  a  flock  of  frightened  partridges. 
They  shuffled  awkwardly  in  outdoor  shoes, 
but  their  costumes  were  surpassingly  bril- 


no    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

liant,  from  their  silken  trousers  to  their 
multicolored  cloaks,  —  sky  -  blue,  yellow 
and  white,  magenta  or  pale  purple. 
Albanian  adventurers  were  smoking  by  the 
house  doors,  clad  in  white,  with  pistols  in 
their  belts  and  daggers  everywhere,  like 
Scotch  Highlanders.  Sallow-faced  Arme- 
nians, looking  askance,  went  by  upon  their 
business,  a  race  full  of  high  aspirations, 
but  become  warped  and  tricky  by  tyranny. 
Greek  islanders  in  brown  homespun  waited 
for  saiUng  orders.  A  negress  in  a  bright 
yellow  jashmak  strolled  leisurely,  or  a 
Tartar  groom  led  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 

The  quay  looked  modern  enough,  with 
its  line  of  horse-cars.  Behind  it  there 
were  storehouses  for  figs,  cotton,  raisins, 
tobacco,  and  licorice,  and  beyond  them 
began  a  network  of  alleys,  leading  no- 
where, at  cross-purposes,  and  without  plan, 
into  which  I  dared  not  enter  far.  Some- 
times a  string  of  camels  blocked  the  way. 
At  such  times  it  was  necessary  to  raise 
the   loop  of  the  rope  which  bound  them 


FROM  SMYRNA  TO  EPHESUS.     Ill 

together,  in  order  to  pass.  Greek  women 
went  about  unveiled,  their  raven  black 
hair  coiled  upon  their  heads  in  oily  tresses, 
or  hanging  down  their  backs  in  braids. 
There  was  the  pleasant  droning  burr  of 
Turkish,  and  the  clatter  of  a  multitude  of 
languages.  Stale  smells  came  from  the 
cellars,  but  tobacco  smoke  and  steaming 
coffee  mitigated  the  evil.  A  vender  of 
halva?'  sweetmeats  called  to  his  customers, 
and  a  mangy  dog  slept  curled  up  in  the 
gutter. 

Next  day  I  visited  some  friends  in 
Burnabat,  a  straggling  suburb,  distant  a 
few  minutes  by  train,  reposing  amid  cy- 
presses and  gardens  of  untold  loveliness. 

After  dinner  a  party  of  us  walked  out  to 
gather  anemones  on  the  hill-sides.  The 
flowers  were  at  their  best,  covering  the 
stony  soil  in  motley  profusion,  and  nodding 
gayly  to  the  afternoon  breeze. 

A  camel  train  went  by  with  a  measured 
tinkling  of  bells.  I  watched  the  animals  as 
they  wound  over  the  hills,  unable  to  rouse 


112    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

myself  from  the  contemplation  of  their 
mysterious  progress.  "  Where  are  they 
going  ? "  I  asked,  at  last. 

"  Oh !  into  the  interior,  to  Aidin,  per- 
haps, to  Isparta,  or  even  Konieh,  —  far  off, 
weeks  and  months  of  travelHng." 

A  nameless  desire  seized  me  to  follow 
them  into  that  unknown  East,  —  and  so 
next  day  I  took  the  train  for  the  valley 
of  the  Maeander,  to  make  my  promised 
visit  there. 

The  Smyrna  and  Aidin  Railroad  is  an 
English-built  affair ;  track  and  rolling-stock 
are  typically  British.  It  is  designed  pri- 
marily to  tap  the  great  fig-growing  district 
of  the  Masander  Valley. 

At  first  the  train  steamed  through  a 
land  of  vineyards,  orange  trees,  and  fig  and 
olive  orchards,  past  the  Caravan  Bridge, 
and  Sedikoi.  Hovels  of  sun-dried  brick 
showed  here  and  there  through  the  foliage. 

Later  came  a  prairie-like  expanse  under 
scanty    cultivation,    where    an    occasional 


FROM  SMYRNA  TO  EPHESUS.     II3 

peasant  could  be  seen  laboring  in  a  primi- 
tive fashion  ;  and  after  Devlikoi,  there  were 
alternating  stretches  of  swamp  and  pasture 
land.  Herons  stood  fishing  amongst  the 
reeds ;  on  the  dry  ground,  sheep  with  long 
flat  tails  nibbled  contentedly,  while  their 
shepherds  watched  them  with  staff  and 
dog,  huddled  under  stiff  felt  cloaks,  with- 
out sleeves  or  collars,  which  serve  also  as 
shelter  for  the  night.  Camels  browsed 
beside  their  young,  herds  of  mares  and 
colts  galloped  off  at  our  approach,  and  on 
the  rocks  of  the  limestone  mountains  near 
Tourbali  goats  were  clambering  in  search 
of  food.  Here,  on  the  right,  loomed  Mount 
Galesion,  sheer  and  precipitous,  crowned 
with  ruined  fortifications,  called  by  the 
Turks  the  Goat  Fort. 

Then  the  country  became  more  barren 
still,  the  train  crossed  a  brook,  the  Cayster, 
and  finally  drew  up  at  Ayasaluk,  the  mod- 
ern name  of  Ephesus.  Herein  is  a  record 
of  St.  John's  presence,  for  Ayasaluk  is 
nothing  but  a  corruption  and  contraction  of 
Hagios  Theologos,  St.  John's  title. 


114    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

A  Greek  keeps  an  inn  near  the  station,  a 
man  of  unblushing  overcharges,  who  sup- 
pUes  horses  and  mules  for  the  tour  of  the 
ruins.  Ayasaluk  itself  is  an  ill-favored 
group  of  a  few  dozen  hovels,  patched  to- 
gether from  fragments  of    ancient  Ephesus. 

Travellers  are  generally  disappointed  with 
their  visit  to  the  ruins,  because  the  latter 
are  not  grouped  effectively,  but  spread  over 
a  wide  area,  which  cannot  be  easily  appre- 
ciated as  a  whole,  but  must,  perforce,  be 
examined  in  detail. 

Ephesus  is  not  well  posed  for  a  painter. 

A  lonely  reach  of  marsh  and  rank  vege- 
tation stretches  to  the  sea,  enclosed  by 
many  miles  of  circling  hills.  On  the  right 
a  battlemented  castle,  perched  on  an  eleva- 
tion ;  in  the  level,  the  mosque  of  Sultan 
Selim,  roofless  and  abandoned.  Beyond, 
and  to  the  left,  covering  Mount  Prion, 
which  projects  into  the  plain,  are  the  prin- 
cipal ruins  of  the  ancient  city  in  the  midst 
of  infinite  desolation. 

The  site  of  the  famous  Temple  of  Diana, 


FROM  SMYRNA  TO  EPHESUS.     115 

for  a  long  time  sought  in  vain  by  explorers, 
was  discovered  in  1869  by  Mr.  J.  T.  Wood, 
once  an  engineer  connected  with  the  rail- 
road. It  has  been  carefully  excavated,  and 
the  results  of  his  labors  are  to  be  seen  in 
the  British  Museum,  where  a  special  room 
has  been  assigned  to  them.  There  is  now 
nothing  but  a  hole  in  the  ground  to  mark 
one  of  the  wonders  of  the  ancient  world. 
The  best  portions  of  the  temple  were  first 
carried  off  by  Justinian  to  beautify  St. 
Sophia  in  Constantinople ;  then  came  the 
destroying  Goths,  the  hosts  of  Islam,  the 
warring  Crusaders,  and,  last  of  all,  the 
archaeologists. 

A  profound  melancholy  brooded  over 
the  street  of  tombs,  as  I  passed,  and  a 
nameless  piteousness  was  in  the  Thermae, 
the  Odeum,  the  Gymnasium,  the  enormous 
theatre,  and  the  port,  overgrown  with  tall 
reeds,  whence  a  canal  led  straight  to  the 
sea. 

And    so,   who   shall    say  that  aught  en- 


Il6    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

dures?  Ephesus,  founded  before  men 
could  even  write  her  records;  placed  to 
command  commerce ;  housing  her  many- 
breasted  goddess  in  a  marble  shrine  that 
was  sculptured  by  Phidias  and  painted  by 
Apelles ;  well-beloved  of  Alexander  the 
Great ;  visited  by  St.  Paul ;  her  church 
nurtured  by  St.  John,  —  how  comes  she  to 
be  buried  in  the  mud  of  the  Cayster } 

Asia  Minor  is  a  carpet,  worn  in  spots  to 
threadbare  tatters.  The  Lydian  Croesus 
spread  his  wealth  upon  the  middle ;  the 
Greeks  displayed  their  arts  along  the 
edges;  Cyrus,  the  Persian,  and  Alexander, 
the  Macedonian,  marched  and  counter- 
marched their  armies  across  its  length  and 
breadth;  Roman  legions,  Byzantines,  Sara- 
cens and  Crusaders  trampled  its  choicest 
patterns  ;  and,  finally,  the  Turks  rode  rough- 
shod over  the  whole,  wearing  away  its  last 
vestiges  of  decoration,  tearing  ruthlessly 
its  fabric,  spurning  everything,  —  and  never 
mending  anything. 


XIII. 

« 

ALI,    THE   BRIGAND. 

I  CAN  see  him  now,  riding  ahead  on 
his  white  stallion,  a  rifle  across  his 
knees,  pistols  in  his  belt,  and  his  saddle- 
bags full  of  provender. 

He  carefully  picked  out  the  best  trail,  and 
turned  from  time  to  time  to  see  how  I  fared, 
for  there  were  often  muddy  pools  to  ford 
and  steep  places  for  the  horses  to  clamber 
over. 

They  had  given  me  a  horse  from  the 
Khan,  a  sorry-looking,  ill-used  animal,  that 
stood  with  hanging  head  to  await  my 
pleasure.  But  it  was  surprising  how  that 
faint  trace  of  the  Desert  Arabian,  which 
lurked  somewhere  in  its  veins,  stood  it  in 
good  stead,  when  it  felt  the  pressure  of  a 
rider. 

After  I  had  bathed  in  the  pool  of  Hierap- 
olis,    Ali    told    me    his    story    through    an 

"7 


Il8    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

interpreter.  I  was  lying  in  the  shade, 
enjoying  the  after-effects  of  my  swim, 
Ali  knelt  by  my  side,  rolling  cigarettes  for 
me,  as  gentle  a  servant  as  ever  a  prince 
could  desire. 

But  his  story  sounded  like  a  feudal 
tale. 

It  appears  that  Ali  was  a  man  of  good 
family,  as  we  say,  without  knowing  very 
well  what  that  may  mean.  The  patrimony 
he  inherited  made  him  a  sort  of  indepen- 
dent land-owner.  One  day,  returning  home 
from  hunting,  he  found  his  slave  loitering 
at  the  door.  He  ordered  him  to  perform 
some  service.  But  the  latter  was  reluc- 
tant or  impudent,  and  Ali,  who  was  not  a 
man  of  many  words,  shot  him  on  the  spot, 
just  as  one  of  our  Teutonic  ancestors 
might  have  cut  down  a  disobedient  bond- 
man. 

In  Turkey,  justice  is  bought  and  sold,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  Unfortunately  it  took 
practically  the  whole  of  All's  estate  to 
clear  him  from  his  crime. 


ALI,    THE    BRIGAND.  II9 

And  this  made  me  think  of  the  Teutonic 
wehrgeld,  that  old-fashioned  fine  for  murder. 
In  the  feudal  age,  if  you  killed  a  nobleman, 
you  had  to  pay  a  sum  of  about  four  thou- 
sand five  hundred  dollars  in  modern  money 
to  his  kinsmen.  A  bondman  costs  some 
two  hundred  and  eighty  dollars. 

After  Ali  had  paid  his  money  to  the  kins- 
men of  his  victim  he  was  a  pauper ;  and  so 
he  turned  brigand,  much  as  one  of  our 
ancestors  might  have  turned  knight-errant 
or  highwayman. 

The  Turkish  Government  has  so  much 
trouble  with  brigands  that  it  has  resorted 
to  an  ingenious  method  of  getting  rid  of 
them.  At  intervals  an  official  announce- 
ment is  made,  that  if  the  brigands  of  a 
certain  district  will  present  themselves  in 
some  particular  village,  at  a  stated  time,  and 
promise  to  do  so  no  more,  they  will  be  for- 
given. Our  friend  Ali  seized  one  of  these 
opportunities  to  return  to  the  open  arms  of 
forgiveness.  Strangely  enough,  a  business 
firm,  which    was    thoroughly  familiar  with 


I20    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

his  career,  immediately  engaged  him  as  a 
cavass^  or  armed  guard. 

His  employers  had  not  been  mistaken 
in  his  character.  Although  Ali  had  already 
been  in  their  service  several  years  when  I 
met  him,  he  had  proved  himself  the  soul  of 
honor.  His  life  was  nothing  to  him  in  the 
discharge  of  his  duty.  His  watchword  was 
loyalty. 

I  looked  at  him  as  he  rose  from  my  side, 
and  liked  him,  even  if  we  could  not  talk 
to  each  other  directly.  He  was  a  thorough 
gentleman. 

His  face  was  imperturbable,  truly  oriental. 
The  hair  of  his  head  was  shaved  part  way 
back  to  the  rim  of  his  small  fez,  which  had 
around  it  a  piece  of  ancient  muslin.  He 
wore  a  handsome  dark-blue  jacket,  em- 
broidered with  braid,  and  his  Turkish 
trousers  hung  awkwardly  about  his  legs, 
like  a  divided  skirt. 

Ali  was  not  a  man  of  many  accomplish- 
ments. It  is  true  he  could  ride  anything 
on  four  legs,  and  could  roll  a  cigarette  the 


ALI,    THE    BRIGAND.  121 

while  with  one  hand.  He  was  also  first- 
class  at  rifle  practice  ;  nothing  pleased  him 
so  much  as  to  pick  ofi^,  in  the  ruins  we 
visited,  an  ornament  on  a  capital,  carved 
two  thousand  years  ago. 

But,  like  most  inland  Turks,  Ali  could 
not  swim. 

They  told  me  an  amusing  story,  to  illus- 
trate at  once  his  helplessness  in  the  water 
and  his  absolute  obedience. 

Some  of  his  employers  one  day  rode  out 
to  bathe  in  the  pool  of  Hierapolis.  They 
stripped  and  dived  in,  while  Ali  watched 
helplessly  from  the  bank.  After  awhile 
they  called  to  him  to  follow,  knowing  that 
he  could  not  swim.  Ali  explained  gravely 
that  he  had  never  learned,  but  that  if  they 
insisted,  of  course  he  must  obey.  The 
employers  insisted.  Ali  did  not  expostu- 
late, but  when  he  was  on  the  brink,  ready 
to  throw  himself  in,  he  begged  them  to 
take  care  of  his  wife  and  children.  They 
promised,  and  before  he  could  realize  what 
they  were  doing,  they  seized  him,  one  by 


122     LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

each  arm,  and  swam  across  the  pool  with 
him  safely  to  the  opposite  bank.  Ali 
crawled  out,  dripping,  dried  and  dressed 
himself  without  a  word.  Then  he  was 
ready  for  any  further  test  of  his  loyalty 
his  masters  might  devise. 

No  people  in  the  world  are  more  mis- 
understood than  the  Turks. 

There  is,  of  course,  nothing  to  say  in 
if avor  of  the  official  Turk,  —  he  is  the  un- 
speakable Turk  we  hear  about,  and  is 
very  often  a  Greek  or  an  Armenian  convert 
to  the  Mohammedan  faith.  The  Govern- 
ment is  organized  brigandage,  from  top  to 
bottom. 

But  the  rural  Turk,  the  man  of  the  soil, 
the  husband  of  one  wife,  who  worships 
daily  in  the  village  mosque,  and  is  getting 
ready  for  his  particular  paradise,  —  he  is 
quite  a  different  sort  of  person.  You  may 
put  him  down  as  a  thoroughly  good  fellow 
within  his  limitations. 

He  is  first  of  all  hospitable.  You  may 
knock    about  the    country   and  put   up   at 


ALI,    THE    HRIGAND.  1 23 

the  first  house  you  reach,  with  the  certainty 
of  courteous  welcome.  The  Turk  is  made 
temperate  by  his  reHgious  principles,  and 
he  is  honest  by  instinct. 

His  kindness  to  animals  is  illustrated 
in  a  curious  manner  by  the  behavior  of 
the  storks,  which  are  very  numerous  in 
Asia   Minor  during  the  winter. 

Almost  every  town  has  its  Turkish, 
Greek  and  Armenian  quarter.  The  Turk- 
ish quarter,  however,  may  be  instantly 
recognized  by  the  presence  of  storks'  nests 
on  the  roofs  of  the  houses.  The  Greeks 
and  Armenians  drive  the  birds  away  with 
sticks  and  stones,  so  that  their  roofs  are 
free. 

It  is  an  amusing  sight  to  see  a  stork 
walking  solemnly  behind  some  Turkish 
ploughman,  picking  up  grubs  in  the  fur- 
rows. There  seems  to  be  a  sort  of 
comradeship  between  man  and  bird. 

But  the  Turks  are  not  modern ;  they 
do  not  fit  into  the  present  industrial 
system ;  they  have  no  commercial  instinct, 


124    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

and  are  still  in  the  feudal  age,  full  of 
old-fashioned  virtues  and  vices.  They 
are  decreasing  in  numbers,  and  are  grow- 
ing poorer ;  they  know  too  little  arithmetic. 
When  the  time  came  for  me  to  part 
from  Ali,  I  felt  that  I  was  losing  a  friend. 
With  much  hesitation  I  slipped  a  Turkish 
dollar  into  his  hand.  You  ought  to  have 
seen  that  ex-brigand,  who  had  killed  his 
man  more  than  once,  blush  up  to  the 
rim  of  his  fez. 


XIV. 
A  TRAIN  OF  CAMELS. 

IT  was  a  March  morning  in  the  valley 
of  the  Maeander.  A  group  of  camels 
waited  patiently  for  the  rising  sun,  crouch- 
ing on  the  gravel  bed  of  the  brook  which 
bisects  the  little  town  of  Sochia. 

Their  mouths  worked  slowly,  in  a  sen- 
sitive sort  of  way ;  their  great  fringed  eyes 
seemed  to  plead ;  the  inverted  arch  of 
the  neck  appeared  at  moments  magnifi- 
cent, then  again  only  comical.  Uncouth, 
perplexing  animals  !  Those  callous  spots, 
on  their  knees,  suggested  abject  submis- 
sion, and  even  the  humps  on  their  backs, 
that  were  overborne  to  one  side  by  their 
own  weight,  looked  pathetic. 

With  the  first  ray  of  sunlight  a  driver 

went  among  them   and  prodded   them   to 

their  feet.     Then  he  took  the  end  of  the 

rope  which  bound   the    animals   together, 

125 


126    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

and  rode  ahead  on  a  donkey  down  the 
valley  of  the  Maeander  to  the  sea. 

The  camels  strode  forward  unerringly 
and  stealthily  on  their  padded  feet,  ad- 
vancing with  a  seesaw  motion  of  marvel- 
lous regularity,  their  loads  of  licorice  root 
creaking  in  unison.  First  there  was  the 
invariable  forward  reach  of  the  neck, — 
something  between  a  lurch  and  a  swing, 
—  and  then  the  tremendous  gathering  up 
of  the  long,  attenuated  hindquarters,  which 
looked  so  weak  but  were  immensely 
strong.  Ever  and  anon  one  of  the  camels 
would  turn  its  head  a  little,  with  slow, 
affected  grace,  but  for  the  rest  there  was 
no  variation  in  the  march. 

As  the  train  passed  through  the  narrow, 
haphazard  by-ways  of  the  town,  storks 
were  nesting  on  the  Turkish  houses, 
smacking  their  bills  in  connubial  bliss. 
Scavenger  dogs  prowled  and  barked 
about  the  alleys,  or  snarled  at  each  other 
over  the  refuse  of  the  streets. 

Beyond  Sochia  the  hill-sides  glowed  with 


A    TRAIN    OF    CAMELS.  1 27 

color.  It  was  the  anemones  showing 
through  the  grass  on  every  hand,  —  of  all 
hues,  from  scarlet,  through  changing  blues, 
to  pale  saffron,  the  whole  forming  a  vast 
primeval  Smyrna  rug.  Sparrow  -  haw^ks 
fluttered  over  the  reeds;  ground -larks 
scurried  away;  hounds  rushed  fiercely 
from  peasant  hovels  to  gnash  at  the 
camels'  heels. 

There  lay  the  valley  of  the  Maeander, 
unreclaimed  from  the  ravages  of  annual 
floods  and  breeding  malaria  !  Its  coloring 
resembled  that  of  the  Roman  Campagna 
in  winter,  —  vague,  subdued  and  rich. 
There  were  the  same  yellows  of  dead 
grass  upon  an  undertone  of  dark  sod, 
the  same  living  brilliancy  around  the 
pools,  and  the  same  gray  blight  cast 
upon  the  expanse.  A  marvellous  harmony 
haunted  the  region  in  a  minor  key, — 
piteous,  magnificently  oriental,  never-to- 
be-forgotten. 

At  Samsun  the  train  of  camels  stopped 
a  while  for  the  driver  to  drink   a    cup  of 


128    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

coffee  and  smoke  a  cigarette  in  the  midst  of 
a  motley  group  of  travellers,  all  fully  armed, 
freebooting-looking,  speaking  a  dozen  dif- 
ferent languages,  their  horses  gayly  capari- 
soned. 

In  the  evening  the  sea  sparkled  its  wel- 
come, and  the  isles  of  Greece  leaned  upon 
the  horizon,  —  Patmos,  Samos  and  many 
others.  But  the  camels  cared  not  for  that. 
They  kneeled,  their  loads  were  taken  off, 
and  they  munched  their  feed.  Poor  ani- 
mals!  full  of  ugly  graces,  apologetic  in 
their  bearing,  and  yet  gifted  with  uncon- 
scious strength,  like  browbeaten,  uncom- 
plaining and  unlovely  women. 

Next  morning  the  loads  were  delivered 
to  a  schooner  sailing  for  America.  The 
camels  kneeled  again.  New  bales  were 
strapped  to  their  humps,  and  the  return 
journey  to  Sochia  began  rather  late. 

The  sun  was  high  and  warm ;  a  damp, 
earthy  smell  rose  from  the  Maeander  Valley, 
a  desolate  languor  lowered  upon  the  ex- 
panse.    At  rare  intervals  men  and  women 


A    TRAIN    OF    CAxMELS.  1 29 

were  passed,  digging  for  licorice  root,  or 
driving  laden  donkeys  before  them.  A 
yoke  of  buffaloes,  with  black,  glistening 
sides,  drew  a  rough  cart;  a  trader  sat 
perched  high  on  his  saddle-bags ;  a  woman 
in  bright  red  drew  on  her  veil,  and  some 
little  children  had  woven  anemones  of 
many  colors  into  their  hair. 

Night  fell  before  the  train  of  camels  had 
reached  Sochia. 

One  by  one  the  stars  appeared.  The 
mist  settled  upon  the  river.  Only  the 
tinkling  of  the  bell  on  the  foremost  camel 
could  be  heard,  or  an  occasional  expostu- 
lating moan  from  the  great,  stupid,  patient 
beasts  of  burden. 

It  was  a  night  of  the  East. 

One  star  especially  seemed  to  change 
from  green  to  red,  and  back  again,  — 
surely  a  double  star,  discernible  in  the 
clearness  of  that  Asiatic  sky ! 

But  where  was  it  this  same  scene  had 
been  enacted  once  before  ?  Yes,  truly : 
there  was  once  a  Star  of  the  East,  and  the 


130    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

wise  men  travelled  until  they  came  to  the 
spot  where  it  shone,  and  there  were  camels, 
too,  laden  with  precious  gifts  for  a  little 
Child. 

In  Sochia  the  men  were  gathered  in 
polyglot  confusion  before  the  inns,  smoking 
chibouks  and  drinking  innumerable  cups  of 
coffee.  Attendants  went  about  replenish- 
ing the  pipes,  or  supplying  them  with  live 
coals.  A  ragged,  vermin-infested  dervish 
howled  dismally  for  alms,  staff  in  hand. 
The  dogs  skulked  in  search  of  offal.  A 
peasant  homeward  bound  sang  from  the 
countryside.  It  was  one  of  those  dirges 
which,  in  the  East,  passed  for  popular 
songs,  but  sound  to  the  Western  ear  like 
the  wail  of  a  dying  race. 

And  then  the  camels  kneeled  once 
more ;  their  loads  were  taken  off ;  they 
munched  their  feed,  and  after  awhile  they 
were  allowed  to  sleep. 


XV. 

THE  GOATHERD  OF  PRIENE. 

EVER  since  he  could  remember,  Usuf 
had  driven  his  goats  to  the  plateau 
of  crumbling  limestone,  where  the  ruins  of 
ancient  Priene  are  perched  in  brilliant 
wreckage  above  the  plain  of  the  Maeander. 
He  was  now  a  shy  old  man,  and  had 
grown  almost  speechless  from  his  long 
solitude. 

His  garments  were  made  of  long-haired 
skins ;  coarse  sandals  protected  his  feet, 
and  leather  thongs  were  wound  about  his 
legs.  In  his  hand  he  carried  a  strange  old 
staff,  and  a  flat  felt  hat  sat  upon  his 
matted  gray  hair. 

He  had  no  idea  what  the  ruins  meant ; 
but  he  liked  to  go  there,  because  the  Turks 
avoided  them,  and  left  him  in  peace.  He 
did  not  even  know  that  he  belonged  to  a 
primitive  race,  which  had  lived  thereabouts 
131 


132    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

from  time  immemorial,  long  before  the 
Turks  were  ever  heard  of. 

Once  inside  the  broken  walls  of  Priene, 
the  goats  wandered  at  will,  feeding  on  the 
grass-grown  streets  and  the  shrubbery  of 
the  wayside.  Great  blocks  of  marble, 
trunks  of  columns,  fragments  of  capitals, 
and  everywhere  massive  foundations,  told 
of  the  classic  age.  Especially  fine  were 
the  remains  of  a  temple,  whose  columns  of 
white  marble  lay  prone  as  they  fell,  split 
into  their  original  sections  by  the  force  of 
their  fall. 

Behind  the  town  proper  rose  an  acropolis, 
—  a  treeless  mountain,  three  or  four  hun- 
dred feet  high,  crowned  with  ancient  forti- 
fications. There  were  steps  leading  up, 
cut  into  the  bare  face  of  the  precipice ;  but 
they  were  difficult  of  access,  and  in  places 
almost  obliterated  by  the  action  of  the  cen- 
turies. It  was  many  years  since  Usuf  had 
attempted  to  climb  them. 

The  old  goatherd  sat  on  a  step  of  the 
temple,  his  back  against  a  fallen    capital, 


THE    GOATHERD    OF    PRIENE.  1 33 

and  looked  lazily  out  over  the  plain  of  the 
Mobander  to  the  sea.  His  dog  barked  now 
and  again  through  the  ruins.  A  mother  in 
the  flock  ninnied  to  her  young,  or  a  vulture 
alighted  on  the  city  wall,  with  a  clumsy 
folding  of  its  wings.  There  was  a  warm 
reflection  from  the  sun  shining  on  the 
shadeless  rocks. 

The  eyes  of  Usuf  fell  to  the  ground,  and 
then  grew  dim.     He  was  asleep. 

With  that  Priene  passed  away.  Only  the 
bare  limestone  remained. 

But  Usuf,  looking  out  to  sea  with  a  new 
pair  of  eyes,  seemed  to  behold  several 
barks,  heading  for  the  mouth  of  the  Mae- 
ander.  Each  was  manned  by  many  oars- 
men, and  had  a  huge  square  sail  in  the 
centre.  Some  colonists  in  rough  tunics, 
rudely  armed,  unloaded  their  vessels,  then 
climbed  the  rocky  elevation,  and  camped 
upon  the  site  of  Priene.  They  were 
lonians. 

Many  centuries  passed  unheeded. 

Then   Usuf,   with    a    new    pair    of    ears, 


134    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

heard  the  sound  of  flutes  and  lyres,  inton- 
ing a  paean  of  victory.  A  procession  of 
priests  and  citizens  filed  through  the  city 
gate,  and  marched  towards  the  headland 
of  Micale,  where  stood  the  shrine  of  the 
twelve  Ionian  cities,  the  sacred  Panionium. 
The  tunics  of  the  people  were  no  longer 
coarse  and  cheap,  they  glittered  with  em- 
broidery, some  were  even  dyed  with  purple, 
for  Priene  had  prospered  as  a  seaport  and 
grown  rich. 

So  rich,  in  fact,  that  Alyattes,  father  of 
Croesus,  laid  siege  to  Priene. 

Usuf,  with  a  new  power  of  thought,  im- 
agined himself  climbing  up  the  steps,  then 
newly-made,  of  the  acropolis.  From  on 
high  he  saw  the  Lydian  army  encamped 
below,  a  numerous  host,  but  not  a  brave 
one.  The  city,  well-provisioned  and  well- 
armed,  offered  a  stout  resistance.  But 
exhaustion  threatened  to  come  at  length, 
so  a  certain  citizen.  Bias  by  name,  one  of 
the  seven  wise  men  of  antiquity,  bethought 
him  of  a  trick. 


THE    GOATHERD    OF    PRIENE.  135 

He  fattened  two  mules  with  great  diffi- 
culty, and  drove  them  down  the  incline 
into  the  camp  of  the  enemy.  Now,  Aly- 
attes,  seeing  the  splendid  condition  the  ani- 
mals were  in,  was  astonished.  He  did  not 
suppose  the  besieged  could  have  spared 
the  food.  Therefore  he  desired  to  make 
peace  with  Priene,  and  so  sent  an  ambas- 
sador. 

At  other  times  Usuf  heard  this  same 
Bias — worldly-wise  philosopher — say  many 
a  true  word ;  for  instance  : 

"  It  is  more  agreeable  to  decide  between 
enemies  than  between  friends ;  for  of 
friends,  one  is  sure  to  become  an  enemy  to 
you ;  but  of  enemies,  one  is  sure  to  become 
a  friend." 

Usuf  also  saw  the  aged  sage  die  quietly 
at  his  profession.  Having  pleaded  a  cause 
for  some  one,  when  he  was  exceedingly  old, 
after  he  had  finished  speaking,  he  leaned 
back  with  his  head  on  the  bosom  of  his 
daughter's  son  ;  and  after  the  judges  had 
given    their   decision    in   favor   of    Bias's 


136    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

client,  when  the  court  broke  up,  he  was 
found  dead  on  his  grandson's  bosom. 

Again  many  centuries  passed  unheeded. 

Finally,  one  day,  Usuf  heard  stone-cut- 
ters at  work  upon  a  glorious  temple  of 
white  marble.  Many  sculptors  adorned  it 
with  statues,  and  painters  decorated  the 
cella  with  color.  When  all  was  ready,  be- 
hold !  Alexander  the  Great  marched  through 
this  region,  after  the  battle  of  Granicus, 
proclaiming  freedom  from  the  Persian 
yoke.  Amid  popular  rejoicings,  the  little 
man  with  aquiline  nose  and  curly  hair 
dedicated  the  temple  to  Athene  Polias. 
Usuf  even  saw  an  inscription,  recording 
this  fact,  carved  upon  the  wall. 

More  than  two  thousand  years  passed 
over  Usuf  in  his  sleep. 

Priene  was  now  in  ruins,  as  Usuf  had 
always  known  it,  except  that  many  columns 
of  the  temple  still  stood  upright.  But  even 
while  Usuf  wondered,  some  modern-looking 
men  came  prying  about  the  city.  One 
among  them,  who  was  master,  ordered  the 


THE    GOATHERD    OF    PRIENE.  137 

Others  to  overturn  a  column.  They  did  so, 
and  found  a  gold  coin  of  great  rarity  be- 
neath the  drum.  Thereafter  peasants  came 
from  all  the  countryside,  hearing  there  was 
gold  under  the  columns  of  Priene.  They 
overturned  everything,  but  no  more  coins 
were  found.  Some  of  the  fluted  sections, 
however,  were  taken  away,  to  be  used  as 
grinding-stones  in  the  licorice  factory. 

Usuf  raised  his  eyes.  He  found  himself 
looking  out  over  the  plain  of  the  Maeander 
to  the  sea.  He  heard  his  dog  bark  at  the 
flock.  He  smelt  the  thyme  in  the  grass  at 
his  side.  Vultures  circled,  swayed,  and 
swung  in  mid-air  to  emphasize  the  im- 
mense, impenetrable  desolation.  The  tor- 
tuous track  of  the  Maeander  glistened 
below,  and  beyond  a  range  of  pale  purple 
spoke  unutterable  mysteries. 

The  old  man  turned  to  look  over  the 
ruins  of  Priene.  He  had  no  idea  what  they 
meant  now ;  but  once,  yes,  a  moment  ago, 
he  had  known,  for  a  brief  instant. 


XVI. 
HIERAPOLIS,    THE   HOLY. 

THERE  can  be  nothing  on  this  every- 
day earth  more  fantastic,  incompre- 
hensible and  altogether  alluring,  than  that 
first  sight  of  Hierapolis  in  Phrygia,  as  you 
approach  it  over  the  sterile,  volcanic  plain 
of  the  Lycus. 

I  rode  out  from  Seraikioi,  at  that  time 
the  terminus  of  the  Smyrna  and  Aidin 
Railroad.  It  was  the  morning  of  the  22nd 
of  March,  a  day  full  of  sunny  exhilaration. 
Three  cavasses  led  the  way  with  much 
show  of  arms  and  oriental  trappings. 

Beyond  the  village,  buffaloes  grazed, 
heavy-footed,  in  the  rough  pastures,  or 
wallowed  through  the  mire  of  the  swamps ; 
and  at  the  licorice  stations,  where  an  occa- 
sional halt  was  made  to  take  breath,  there 
were  herds  of  mares  and  foals  in  paddocks. 
As  one  advanced,  the  wayside  folk  seemed 
138 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 39 

more  untamed  and  unkempt,  the  children 
freer,  lovelier ;  while  the  women,  their  hair 
dyed  a  dull  brick-red  with  henna,  not  only 
shyly  veiled  themselves  as  we  rode  up,  but 
also  turned  their  backs  until  we  had  passed. 
The  hovels  of  sun-dried  mud  and  rushes 
were  pitiably  primitive. 

In  one  hamlet  a  poor  little  mosque 
leaned  against  a  tall  tree,  which,  for  want 
of  anything  better,  served  as  a  minaret. 

After  three  hours  of  riding,  Hierapolis 
loomed  in  sight. 

At  first  one  can  only  discern  a  white 
effulgence  on  the  hill-side,  like  a  monster 
snow-drift,  dazzling  and  glinting  in  the 
sunlight.  Above  it  the  ruins  of  the  city 
show  vaguely,  as  though  enthroned  on  a 
marble  pedestal.  The  Turks  call  the  place 
Pambouk  Kalessi,  or  Cotton  Fort,  but 
nearer  by  the  mass  of  white  looks  more 
like  a  frozen  cataract,  tumbling  in  great 
bounds  from  a  terrace,  where  Hierapolis 
lies  forlorn  and  forgotten,  a  sanctuary  once, 
but  now  shunned  by  the  natives. 


I40    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

At  this  moment  Ali,  the  head  cavass  on 
the  white  stallion,  fired  into  the  air.  The 
horses  knew  their  cue ;  rearing,  leaping, 
and  racing,  as  though  the  evil  spirits  of 
Gadara  had  entered  into  them,  they  tore 
across  the  plain,  —  and  so  we  arrived  at 
the  foot  of  the  plateau  on  which  Hierapolis 
stands. 

The  terrace,  or  shelf,  is  between  two  and 
three  hundred  feet  high  and  several  miles 
long.  It  has  been  created  by  the  deposits 
of  a  hot  spring,  which  rises  amongst  the 
ruins,  and  overflowing  in  little  streams, 
runs  down  the  incline,  incrusting  the 
ground  with  a  snow-white  sediment. 

While  fresh,  this  substance  looks  like 
pure  lime,  but  it  weathers  hard  and  turns 
into  a  porous  gray-brown  rock,  resembling 
Roman  travertine.  The  water  is  full  of 
carbonic  acid  gas,  and  probably,  also,  con- 
tains a  good  deal  of  silica  in  solution,  for 
the  grasses  and  shrubs,  that  have  found  a 
foothold  in  the  crevices,  are  silently  turned 
to  stone,  silicified  by  the  impregnated  water 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  14I 

and  steam.  There  were  leaves  and  stems 
still  green  and  barely  touched,  others  al- 
ready thoroughly  incrusted,  while  some 
were  transformed  into  white,  fragile  forms, 
from  which  all  vegetable  matter  had  long 
since  vanished. 

The  face  of  the  cliff  is  a  marble-like 
Niagara. 

As  the  little  rills  trickle  down  over  the 
edge,  there  is  a  constant  banking  up  of  the 
soft  sediment,  a  busy  building  of  pools, 
where  the  shifting  light  creates  colors  of 
enchantment :  iridescent,  pale  blue,  yellow 
and  joyous  pink.  There  is  the  whispered 
dripping  of  steaming  rivulets,  leaping  from 
shelf  to  shelf,  from  basin  to  basin,  consort- 
ing strangely  in  murmured  companionship. 
In  these  water-pockets  forsaken  Hierapolis 
now  alone  can  store  her  wealth. 

There  is  such  daintiness  and  gayety  in 
the  descent  of  these  waters  into  the  plain, 
that  one  is  not  prepared  for  the  gray  deso- 
lation above. 

We   clambered    up  the    incline,  as  best 


142    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

we  might,  while  the  horses  were  led  round 
to  mount  into  the  city  by  the  ancient  road. 
On  top  there  was  an  arid  expanse,  covered 
with  enormous  ruins. 

No  trace  of  human  life,  and  a  silent 
blight  dominating  everything. 

Near  the  edge  of  the  cliff  were  massive, 
broken  walls ;  beyond,  a  group  of  vast, 
vaulted  buildings,  which  have  been  identi- 
fied by  archaeologists  as  the  thermos  and 
palcBstria  of  Hierapolis,  the  baths  and  the 
gymnasium.  Here  and  there  great  rents 
crossed  the  masonry,  the  result  of  earth- 
quakes, for  which  this  region  has  always 
been  noted.  Narrow  passage-ways  pierced 
the  walls. 

When  we  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  one 
of  the  archways,  and  seen  the  extraordi- 
nary size  of  the  stones  which  composed  it, 
our  astonishment  was  indeed  great.  No 
mortar  was  used ;  the  blocks  held  together 
by  their  great  weight  and  strength;  but  it 
seemed  a  marvel  how  the  ancients  could 
have  hoisted  them  to  such  an  elevation,  or 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 43 

what  sort  of  a  scaffolding  they  could  have 
used. 

Leaving  the  cavasses  and  horses  com- 
fortably placed  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
thermce.  I  first  passed  through  an  open 
space  surrounded  by  remnants  of  columns, 
perhaps  an  agora,  or  market-place  and 
then  climbed  the  hill  to  the  theatre,  which 
is  reckoned  one  of  the  best  preserved  to 
be  found  anywhere. 

The  scena  or  stage  was  wonderfully  intact, 
but  what  might  be  termed  the  fa9ade,  over 
the  main  entrance,  lay  headlong,  a  tumbled 
mass  of  sculpture.  I  noticed  especially  a 
part  of  the  fallen  frieze,  which  represented 
a  hunting  scene.  The  workmanship  was 
exquisite.  After  vainly  endeavoring  to  de- 
cipher an  inscription,  we  entered  the  or- 
chestra and  walked  to  the  topmost  tier  of 
seats,  still  for  the  most  part  in  their  places. 

Archaeologists  give  the  diameter  of  the 
theatre  as  three  hundred  and  forty-six  feet, 
with  forty-five  tiers  of  seats  in  sight,  and 
others,  perhaps,  buried  under  the  debris. 


144    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

Was  it  accident  or  design  that  placed  so 
many  Greek  theatres  in  positions  with 
wide  outlooks  ? 

The  plain  of  the  Lycus  rolled  sea-like  to 
the  west.  Opposite,  Baba  Dagh — Father 
Mountain  —  surged  into  the  sky,  the  Mount 
Cadmus  of  the  ancients,  and  the  highest 
peak  in  this  part  of  Asia  Minor.  It  was 
still  covered  with  snow,  like  a  bit  of  the 
Alps  in  the  tropics.  At  its  foot  lay  the 
ruins  of  Laodicea  and  Colossae,  but  be- 
hind, in  sombre  rows,  the  mountains  of 
Caria  rose  and  fell,  bleak  and  gray  against 
an  unclouded  sky.  No  sound  broke 
through  the  sunlit  air.  A  dry  smell 
came  from  the  heated  rocks,  where  devas- 
tation reigned  supreme.  A  musing  lan- 
guor spoke  in  the  dying  breeze. 

Once  there  must  have  been  the  utmost 
refinement  of  pleasure  in  sitting  there,  dur- 
ing the  days  of  the  city's  full  tide  of 
prosperity. 

Not  that  Hierapolis  ever  played  a  great 
part  in  the  world's  history.     A  fashionable 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 45 

shrine,  perhaps,  a  resort  for  the  sick,  like 
some  modern  Spa  or  Saratoga,  but  for  the 
rest,  apparently,  a  quiet  provincial  town. 
The  peculiar  properties  of  the  water  gave 
value  to  her  dyes  and  woollen  manufac- 
tures, Strabo  says.  St.  Paul  speaks  of  a 
Christian  church  there  in  his  time,  and 
there  were  bishops  until  A.  D.  1066. 
Probably  the  Latin  Crusaders,  in  their 
many  marches  through  this  region,  sup- 
pressed the  Greek  ritual ;  then  came  the 
destroying  fury  of  the  Moslem,  and  the 
earthquakes  did  the  rest. 

If  Hierapolis  can  claim  any  distinction 
at  all  in  history,  it  is  for  having  given 
birth  to  Epictetus,  the  slave-philosopher, 
the  pure-souled  Stoic. 

By  some  mocking  irony  he  had  become 
in  early  youth  the  slave  of  that  profli- 
gate freedman,  Epaphroditus,  who  helped 
Nero  put  an  end  to  his  life.  About 
89,  A.  D.,  however,  Epictetus  was  enabled 
to  open  a  school  of  philosophy  at  Nicop- 


146    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

olis,  in  Epirus.  It  was  a  magnificently 
modern  saying  of  his,  "  Never,  in  reply  to 
the  question  to  what  country  you  belong, 
say  that  you  are  an  Athenian  or  a  Corin- 
thian, but  that  you  are  a  citizen  of  the 
world." 

Epictetus  .  was  always  insisting  upon 
man's  divine  nature :  "  Wretch,  you  are 
carrying  about  a  god  with  you,  and  you 
know  it  not."  Of  the  human  being  he  once 
exclaimed  in  a  supreme  moment :  "  What, 
and  immortal,  too,  exempt  from  old  age 
and  from  sickness  ?  No ;  but  dying  as 
becomes  a  god,  sickening  as  becomes  a 
god."     A  sublime  paradox  indeed. 

But  his  conversation  with  his  pupils 
seems  to  have  been  filled  also  with  homely, 
telling  phrases :  "  It  is  not  easy  to  exhort 
weak  young  men ;  for  neither  is  it  easy  to 
hold  soft  cheese  with  a  hook."  "  The  con- 
test is  unequal  between  a  charming  young 
girl  and  a  beginner  in  philosophy." 

He  once  stated  the  position  of  the  Stoic 
by  referring  to  himself  as  an  illustration : 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 47 

"  Look  at  me,  who  am  without  a  city,  with- 
out a  house,  without  possessions,  with- 
out a  slave ;  I  sleep  on  the  ground ;  I 
have  no  wife,  no  children,  no  praetorium, 
but  only  the  earth  and  heavens,  and  one 
poor  cloak.  And  what  do  I  want  ?  Am  I 
not  without  sorrow  ?  Am  I  not  without 
fear  ?     Am  I  not  free  ? " 

I  descended  from  the  theatre,  past  a 
well-preserved  reservoir  with  earthen  pipes, 
and  came  to  the  famous  pool  of  Hierapolis. 

This  sheet  of  warm  water  is  of  irregular 
shape,  perhaps  forty  feet  by  twenty;  the 
depth  varies  considerably,  for  in  places 
the  marble  pavement,  which  once  covered 
the  bottom,  shows  plainly  through  the 
water,  upheaved  and  broken,  apparently 
by  the  action  of  earthquakes.  In  one 
spot,  however,  there  is  a  deep  rift,  from 
which  the  water  rises  dark  and  in  smooth 
coils.  Fragments  of  white  columns  lie 
prostrate  in  the  water,  heaped  in  superb 
confusion,    the    remnants,    probably,    of    a 


148    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

colonnade  which  circled  the  pool.  The 
water  is  of  an  iridescent  blue,  something 
like  that  in  the  famous  grotto  at  Capri; 
silver  bubbles  rise  incessantly  to  the  sur- 
face, and  steam  fills  the  air  on  ordinary 
days,  for  the  temperature  is  about  90° 
Fahrenheit. 

I  stripped  and  dived  in  headlong. 

It  was  the  strangest  bath  I  have  ever 
taken.  Swimming  over  columns  and  blocks 
of  pavement,  resting  for  a  moment  on  a 
chiselled  capital,  my  body  gleaming,  as 
though  with  some  strange  phosphores- 
cence, floating  with  eyes  upturned  to  the 
sky,  or  looking  round  upon  the  infinite 
sadness  of  the  city, —  where  shall  a  modern 
man  find  so  ancient  and  classic  a  bath 
in  our  day? 

The  ever-attentive  cavass  spread  out 
luncheon  near  the  ther7?ics,  then  rolled 
cigarettes  for  us,  and  left  us  dozing 
comfortably  on  a  blanket,  sheltered  from 
the  breeze.  The  effect  of  the  bath  was 
inexpressibly  soothing. 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 49 

Various  travellers,  beginning  with 
Strabo,  have  described  the  exhalations 
from  the  pool  as  dangerous.  One  of  the 
most  recent  visitors  to  Hierapolis,  the  Rev. 
E.  J.  Davis,  in  his  book,  "  Anatolica," 
writes  that  villagers  told  him  of  several 
persons  who  had  been  drowned,  while 
bathing  in  •  the  pool,  either  overpowered 
by  the  supposed  noxious  gases,  or,  as  the 
villagers  thought  more  probable,  dragged 
down  by  some  evil  spirit.  He  mentions 
seeing  two  sparrows,  just  dead,  which  had 
alighted  to  drink,  and  been  stifled. 

For  myself,  I  can  only  say  that  I 
experienced  no  bad  effects,  but,  on  the 
contrary,  found  the  bath  most  refreshing; 
while  a  friend  of  mine  assures  me,  that 
it  has  become  quite  a  custom  for  himself 
and  family  to  spend  several  weeks  at  a 
time  in  an  improvised  tent  near  Hierapolis, 
in  order  to  enjoy  the  bathing. 

Other  travellers,  both  ancient  and  mod- 
ern, also  speak  of  a  mephytic  cavern,  the 
so-called    Plutonium.     Whether    the    aper- 


150    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

ture  has  become  blocked  up,  or  the 
exhalations  have  been  diverted  to  other 
openings,  certain  it  is,  that  neither  Mr. 
Davis  nor  I  saw  anything  which  corre- 
sponds to  the  description  given  by  these 
visitors.  There  is  indeed  a  large  ruin, 
rising  upon  the  supposed  site,  but  no 
aperture  is  visible. 

The  cavasses  amused  themselves  with 
a  little  rifle  practice,  and  then  we  mounted 
and  rode  through  the  deserted  city. 

There  is  a  main  street,  lined  with  a 
multitude  of  ruins.  One  of  these  had 
evidently  been  a  Christian  church,  for  a 
cross  was  carved  upon  the  keystone  of 
the  arch. 

At  this  point  a  goatherd  started  sud- 
denly from  behind  some  stones,  and  came 
forward  with  a  few  coins  for  sale  which 
he  had  found  thereabouts.  He  was  glad 
of  the  metallics  I  gave  him,  in  exchange 
for  a  Byzantine  copper  coin,  of  Leo,  the 
Isaurian. 

Beyond,  there  was  a  gateway  and  wall. 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  151 

then  another  gateway;  a  prostrate  colon- 
nade, a  triumphal  archway,  another  Chris- 
tian church,  and  after  that,  for  about  half 
a  mile,  we  rode  along  a  street  of  tombs, 
stretching  wearily  on  either  hand,  beside 
the  rough-paved  way.  They  consisted  of 
a  sarcophagus  and  lid,  each  hewn  from 
a  solid  piece,  and  the  whole  perched  on 
a  square  of  masonry.  Some  bore  in- 
scriptions, some  were  tilted  and  broken, 
and  all  had  been  rifled  of  their  contents 
at  some  time. 

Among  them,  but  standing  somewhat 
apart,  was  the  one  known  as  the  tomb 
of  Epictetus,  how  justly  I  do  not  know. 

From  the  end  of  the  street  a  last  look 
at  Hierapolis  showed  the  city  lying, 
yellow-brown,  in  the  afternoon  sun.  The 
parched  ground  looked  sear  against  some 
sparsely-wooded  hills  at  the  back.  An 
abandoned,  hopeless  aspect  pervaded 
everything,  inexpressibly  pathetic  to  any- 
one coming  from  the  centres  of  civilization. 
It  seemed  as  though  the   mute  city  were 


152    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

Struggling  to  cry  out  against  hapless  fate, 
to  reproach  a  pitiless  heaven.  The  very 
white  that  gleamed  so  joyously  at  our 
approach  now  looked  more  like  a  shroud. 

As  the  horses  turned  their  heads  tow- 
ards Seraikioi,  a  vulture  squawked  in  the 
ruins ;  but  in  the  plain  the  grass  was  gayly 
green,  camels  and  horses  grazed  content- 
edly over  wide  pasture  lands,  a  peace  almost 
Arcadian  rested  on  the  peasant  huts. 

It  was  decided  to  return  to  the  village 
by  another  way.  All  went  well  for  awhile. 
By  degrees,  however,  the  sod  became 
softer,  the  grass  juicier,  the  horses'  hoofs 
sank  awkwardly  into  the  ground,  and  then 
we  knew  that  we  had  ventured  into  a  bog, 
dry  and  passable  in  the  summer,  but  diffi- 
cult in  March. 

We  dismounted  and  led  the  plunging 
animals  gently  from  one  hummock  to 
another.  Sometimes  they  sank  to  their 
haunches,  struggling  with  a  human  fright 
in  their  eyes,  which  was  pitiable.  But 
when  we  reached  firm  footing  once  more, 


HIERAPOLIS,    THE    HOLY.  1 53 

they  fell  into  their  rapid,  rachvan  gait, 
apparently  as  fresh  as  ever. 

The  afternoon  waned.  A  traveller  knelt 
by  the  wayside  on  his  carpet,  praying 
towards  the  east,  the  villagers  were  return- 
ing to  their  homes  after  the  field-work  of 
the  day. 

In  Seraikioi  motley  groups,  poverty- 
stricken,  but  in  gay  colors  and  outlandish 
dress,  stood  in  the  little  squares,  and  all 
the  men  were  gathered  in  front  of  the 
mosque,  to  await  the  evening  call  to  prayer. 

Then  a  figure  stepped  out  upon  the 
gallery  of  the  minaret,  and,  with  uplifted 
hands,  wailed  forth  a  sombre  dirge  to  the 
night  wind. 

The  sound  descended  in  broken  pulsa- 
tions upon  the  listening  town. 

It  was  lugubrious,  charged  with  sorrow, 
and  burdened  with  an  unspeakable  dejec- 
tion. It  rose  and  fell,  from  sad  sighings 
and  murmurs  full  of  evil  prophecies, 
through  dismal  howls  and  blood-curdling 
execrations,  to  hoarse  shrieks  of  unbridled 


154    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

madness.  It  chilled,  and  yet  inflamed. 
At  the  end  there  came  a  piteous,  nasal 
note,  almost  a  whine,  upon  which  the 
priest  dwelt  with  lingering  pathos. 

"  God  is  great !  God  is  almighty !  God 
is  merciful !  I  testify  there  is  no  God  but 
one  God.  I  testify  that  Mohammed  is  the 
prophet  of  God.  Ye  faithful,  come  now 
to  prayers.  God  is  great !  God  is  al- 
mighty !  God  is  merciful !  There  is  no 
God  but  one  God  !  " 

And  then  the  men  entered  the  mosque 
to  worship,  leaving  their  shoes  on  the 
threshold  in  long  lines,  two  and  two. 


THKIK    C.ULDKN'    \VEDlJlN(i. 


XVII. 
THEIR  GOLDEN  WEDDING. 

OLD  Reiser  had  been  a  fisherman  all 
his  life  on  the  lake  of  Thun,  and  he 
was  now  over  seventy.  Just  because  to- 
day happened  to  be  the  fiftieth  anniver- 
sary of  his  wedding  was  no  reason  for 
stopping  work.  Besides,  lake  trout  were 
scarce  and  in  demand,  and  his  fishing  per- 
mit came  high.  So  he  had  spent  the  day, 
as  usual,  with  his  nets  off  the  reeds,  where 
the  Aar  rushes  into  the  lake. 

In  the  late  afternoon  Reiser  rowed  home, 
obliquely  across,  to  the  hamlet  of  Sund- 
lauenen.  It  was  only  a  handful  of  dingy 
chalets,  built  on  the  rubble  which  the 
Suldbach  had  brought  down  through  the 
ages,  and  inhabited  by  a  wretched,  primi- 
tive population.  As  he  neared,  he  turned 
his  boat,  —  they  always  do  in  the  Ober- 
155 


156    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

land,  —  and  rode  stern  foremost  under  the 
rustic  roof  of  his  boat-house. 

His  wife,  who  was  watching,  came  to 
meet  him  from  their  cottage. 

She  wore  the  old-fashioned  bodice  of 
the  Bernese  costume  and  the  wide  sleeves. 
Her  face  was  puckered  into  weather-beaten 
wrinkles,  her  hands  hard  and  callous,  her 
gait  stooping  and  slouchy,  peasant-like. 
As  she  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  and 
pushed  him  affectionately,  her  little  old 
eyes  were  moist  with  happiness.  She  had 
said  all  along,  she  knew  they  would  never 
live  to  celebrate  their  golden  wedding.  It 
was  an  intuition,  she  insisted,  but  now, 
after  all,  it  was  such  a  relief  to  know  that 
she  was  wrong. 

Some  young  ladies  from  the  pension  at 
the  end  of  the  lake,  who  were  fond  of 
picknicking  here,  on  the  grass  by  the 
water,  nicknamed  the  old  couple  the  Duke 
and  Duchess,  —  probably  because  their 
manners  were  so  much  finer  than  those  of 
real  dukes  and  duchesses.     That  morning 


THEIR    GOLDEN    WEDDING.  1 57 

those  dear  young  ladies  had  brought  their 
wedding  gift,  she  told  him.  Four  pounds 
of  sugar,  two  of  coffee  (for  them  both,  you 
see),  some  cotton  thread  and  a  paper  of 
pins  for  her.  They  had  asked  about 
tobacco  for  old  Reiser,  but  she  told  them 
proudly  that  he  never  smoked. 

Reiser's  wife  had  never  been  farther 
from  home  than  Bern,  some  twenty-five 
miles  away,  and  that  was  in  her  youth. 
They  had  never  had  any  children.  He 
had  fished ;  she  had  worked  in  their  vege- 
table patch,  and  woven  the  hemps  for  his 
nets,  or  helped  him  mend  them.  It  was 
always  a  struggle  to  make  both  ends  meet, 
but  they  had  been  really  happy  through  it 
all. 

''  And  to  think,"  she  repeated,  as  they 
came  out  after  supper,  "  that  I  felt  so  sure 
we  would  never  live  to  see  this  day." 

They  sat  on  the  bench  at  the  side  of  the 
cottage,  where  the  nets  hang  to  dry.  There 
was  such  a  calm  on  the  lake,  they  could 
hear  people    talking   on    the    other    shore. 


158    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

From  the  fringe  of  the  woods  came  the 
smell  of  cyclamen.  A  quiet  light  glowed 
behind  the  Stockhorn,  but  the  Niesen  had 
already  become  a  purple  pyramid,  turn- 
ing black.  An  electric  light  was  turned  on 
at  the  Darlingen  steamboat  landing,  and, 
soon  after,  a  star  appeared  over  the  shoul- 
der of  the  range  opposite. 

Old  Reiser  and  his  wife  sat  hand  in 
hand,  like  lovers.  She  had  brought  out 
the  Bible,  as  though  it  were  Sunday. 

At  intervals  she  still  persisted  that  she 
had  always  felt  they  would  never  live  to 
see  this  day. 

Just  then  a  fish  rose.  The  ripples 
parted  slowly  in  a  circle  across  the  calm, 
line  after  line,  without  pause,  infinite,  —  a 
symbol  of  immortality. 

"  But  now  I  don't  care  what  happens," 
said  the  old  woman.     And  they  went  in. 


XVIII. 
AT   THE    MANCEUVRES. 

THAT  autumn  the  manoeuvres  of  the 
Swiss  army  were  held  in  the  upland 
district  of  the  Canton  of  Vaud,  back  of 
the  Lake  of  Geneva,  in  a  delightful  region, 
lying  between  Romont  and  Chatel  St. 
Denis,  which  is  practically  unknown  to 
tourists. 

There  were  as  many  as  twenty-five 
thousand  men  in  the  field,  encamped  in 
two  great  divisions,  so  as  to  form  an  in- 
vading and  a  defending  corps,  equipped 
for  war  in  every  particular. 

A  general  scheme  of  operations  had 
been  drawn  up  beforehand,  and  even  pub- 
lished in  the  newspapers.  Fortunately  it 
was  so  simple  that  even  an  unmilitary  mind 
could  master  it  at  once,  with  the  aid  of  an 
ordinary  map : 

IS9 


l6o    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

A  hostile  army  from  the  south  has  pene- 
trated into  the  Valais  with  the  intention  of 
forcing  a  passage  upon  Bern,  the  capital, 
while  a  native  army  is  gathered  in  the 
region  of  Bern  to  defend  that  city.  The 
enemy's  plan  of  attack  consists  in  sending 
detachments  to  try  and  cross  the  passes 
which  lead  from  the  Valais  into  the 
Bernese  Oberland,  such  familiar  passes  as 
the  Grimsel,  the  Gemmi,  the  Rawyl,  and 
others.  For  purposes  of  simplification, 
however,  these  detachments  are  supposed 
to  be  held  in  check  by  native  troops,  col- 
lected for  the  defence  of  the  passes,  so  that 
their  operations  remain  purely  imaginary, 
and  play  no  part  in  the  manoeuvres.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  large  force  of  the  enemy, 
the  left  wing,  advances  from  Vevey  upon 
Fribourg,  in  order  to  reach  Bern  from  this 
side,  and  a  corresponding  force  of  native 
troops  is  sent  forward  to  meet  the  invaders, 
and  throw  them  back  upon  Vevey  and  into 
the  Valais  again.  The  two  armies  are  sup- 
posed to  meet  finally  near  Romont,  but  the 


AT    THE    MANOEUVRES.  l6l 

various  details  of  the  conflict  are  to  be  left 
entirely  to  the  commanders,  and  to  fortune, 
as  in  real  war. 

On  the  morning  of  the  tenth  of  Septem- 
ber a  decisive  battle  was  fought  on  the  out- 
skirts of  Romont. 

The  defending  force  was  strongly  posted 
upon  a  commanding  hill.  Great  masses  of 
infantry  were  waiting  in  the  woods ; 
Krupp  cannon  were  stationed  in  trenches, 
hidden  behind  hedges,  artificially  made  of 
cut  branches ;  and  the  sharp-shooters  were 
thrown  well  forward  in  all  directions. 

Presently,  scouts  came  riding  furiously  to 
announce  that  the  enemy  had  been  sighted. 
A  few  alterations  were  quickly  made  in  the 
position  of  the  artillery,  to  correspond  with 
the  most  recent  information  received,  and 
finally  small  detachments  of  the  enemy 
were  perceived  in  the  distance,  advancing 
under  cover  of  all  possible  natural  shelter. 

It  was  half-past  nine. 

The  native  artillery  promptly  opened  fire 
upon    the    exposed    enemy.     The    hostile 


1 62    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

artillery  responded,  and  the  battle  had 
begun. 

Presently  the  sharp-shooters  found  them- 
selves within  range  of  each  other,  and  a 
murderous  fire  ensued,  which  steadily  in- 
creased in  volume,  until  all  the  hills  around 
resounded  with  the  crack  of  musketry  and 
the  booming  of  cannon.  It  took  the  two 
armies  about  an  hour  and  a  half  to  come 
to  close  quarters.  Then  the  native  army 
brought  forward  its  reserves,  hitherto  hid- 
den in  the  woods  behind.  Dark  lines  of 
infantry  advanced  in  quickstep  and  poured 
fusillades  into  the  enemy,  posted  on  the 
outskirts  of  a  dense  forest,  whose  trees  re- 
echoed the  sound  of  shooting  with  a  ter- 
rible, hollow  shriek. 

Line  after  line  of  reserves  came  pouring 
out,  running  every  moment  faster,  with 
drums  beating,  bands  playing  and  flags 
flying.     It  was  now  half-past  eleven  o'clock. 

The  umpires  ordered  the  retreat  to  be 
blown,  for  victory  remained  with  the  de- 
fenders.    Twenty-five  thousand   men   had 


AT    THE    MANOEUVRES.  1 63 

fought  each  other  with  grim  determination, 
but  there  were  neither  dead  nor  wounded 
to  deplore,  —  the  surgeons  alone  had  been 
inactive. 

Next"  day  the  army,  which  had  been 
called  into  existence  for  the  manoeuvres, 
was  reviewed  by  the  commanding  officers, 
and  was  then  disbanded  to  return  to  civil 
life.  Within  twenty-four  hours  there  was 
not  a  soldier  to  be  seen  in  all  that  country 
round  about. 

Of  course  the  appearance  of  the  troops 
and  the  conduct  of  operations  were  by  no 
means  faultless. 

An  English  captain  on  leave  w^as  very 
severe  upon  the  tefiuc  of  the  men,  which 
is  unquestionably  slovenly,  according  to 
English  or  German  ideas  of  military  smart- 
ness. He  also  thought  the  lower  officers  a 
very  uninstructed  set  of  men,  and  espe- 
cially criticised  the  close  order  in  which  the 
lines  were  brought  under  fire  at  the  close,  — 
an  operation  which,  he  said,  would  have  ex- 
posed them  to  annihilation  in  real  warfare. 


164    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

At  the  same  time  the  captain  was  loud  in 
his  praises  of  the  artillery,  and  was  pleased 
with  the  enthusiasm  and  morale  of  the  men. 

A  retired  Prussian  cavalry  officer,  al- 
though admitting  the  lack  of  neatness  in  the 
appearance  of  the  men  and  the  amateurish- 
ness of  the  younger  officers,  was  of  opinion 
that  the  close  order  of  lines  at  the  last  was 
the  right  thing,  because  the  supreme 
moment  of  the  battle  had  come :  it  was 
good  military  science  to  mass  the  troops 
for  a  last  rush. 

One  of  the  three  French  officers,  who 
had  been  sent  to  report,  was  heard  to 
characterize  the  morning's  work  as  a  "nice 
little  manoeuvre,"  —  a  remark  sufficiently 
non-committal  to  suit  his  official  position. 

But  the  supreme  virtue  these  critics 
failed  to  understand,  —  the  Swiss  army  is 
democratic  to  the  core.  There  are  no 
drill-master  tyrannies,  but  only  that  obedi- 
ence is  demanded  which  comes  to  men 
naturally  in  the  fulfilment  of  a  patriotic 
duty. 


XIX. 

SELF-GOVERNMENT. 

EARLY  in  the  morning  crowds  of  wor- 
shippers repaired  to  the  parish  church 
at  Altdorf,  and  after  service  dispersed  in 
groups  about  the  village,  to  await  the  time 
when  the  procession  should  start  for  the 
famous  meadow.  At  last,  at  about  eleven 
o'clock,  there  was  a  roll  of  drums,  a  burst 
of  music,  and  a  train  of  persons  issued  from 
the  little  market-place  in  front  of  the  town 
hall. 

First  marched  two  men,  clad  in  mediaeval 
costumes  of  orange  and  black,  the  cantonal 
colors,  each  bearing  upon  his  shoulders  the 
great  horn  of  a  bull.  These  individuals  are 
called  Tells,  in  memory  of  the  traditional 
hero,  and  the  horns  are  those  which  the 
ancient  warriors  of  Uri  carried  with  them 
to  battle.  Then  followed  drums  and  music 
and  a  detachment  of  soldiers,  over  whom 
165 


1 66    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

waved  the  ancient  banner,  in  the  centre  of 
which  was  embroidered  a  bull's  head,  the 
cantonal  coat  of  arms,  and  in  one  corner  a 
miniature  representation  of  the  crucifixion. 
For  Church  and  State,  religion  and  warfare, 
have  always  gone  hand  in  hand  in  the  prim- 
itive Swiss  cantons. 

Behind  this  guard  of  honor  came  the 
magistrates  and  their  seven  beadles  in  car- 
riages, the  latter  made  imposing  by  cocked 
hats  and  long  cloaks,  also  of  orange  and 
black.  In  the  carriages  were  the  three 
symbols  of  state :  the  mace,  a  wooden  staff 
studded  with  brass  nails,  and  surmounted 
by  a  ball  representing  an  apple  pierced  by 
an  arrow  (evidently  another  reference  to 
William  Tell) ;  the  sword  of  state,  a  long, 
two-edged  weapon ;  and  a  bag  containing 
the  cantonal  seals. 

The  procession  was  closed  by  an  irreg- 
ular following  of  all  the  men,  women 
and  children  who  could  conveniently 
leave  their  homes  in  various  parts  of  the 
canton. 


SELF-GOVERNMENT.  1 67 

Arrived  at  the  meadow,  the  voters,  esti- 
mated at  two  thousand  by  the  weekly  paper 
of  Uri,  the  Ur?ier  Wochenblatt,  ranged  them- 
selves upon  a  wooden  stand,  built  for  the 
occasion,  in  the  shape  of  an  amphitheatre ; 
the  chief  magistrate,  the  Landammann,  and 
the  Landesstatthalter,  took  positions  at  a 
table  in  the  centre,  where  the  symbols  of 
state  were  displayed,  with  the  horns,  drums, 
and  banner,  while  the  seven  beadles  occu- 
pied raised  seats  at  one  side  of  the  ring. 
The  women,  children  and  visitors,  on  their 
part,  withdrew  to  the  unoccupied  portions 
of  the  meadow,  or  to  an  adjacent  hillock, 
from  which  the  proceedings  could  be  more 
conveniently  watched.  Amongst  the  spec- 
tators were  also  some  visitors  from  neigh- 
boring cantons,  a  member  or  two  of  the 
federal  Legislatures  at  Bern,  and  a  few 
foreigners. 

It  is  customary  for  the  Landammann  to 
open  the  Assembly  with  a  speech,  in  which 
he  rehearses  the  affairs  of  the  canton,  of 
Switzerland,  and  even  the  most  important 


1 68    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

events  in  foreign  countries,  which  have 
occurred  during  the  past  year. 

While  this  was  in  progress,  one  could  look 
more  closely  at  the  men  who  composed  the 
Assembly,  and  see  how  truly  democratic  a 
gathering  they  made.  All  manner  of  men 
were  there,  side  by  side  ;  all  kinds  of  trades 
and  occupations  were  represented,  —  the 
cowherd,  the  artisan,  and  the  shopkeeper ; 
the  professional  man,  the  parish  priest,  the 
monk,  and  the  soldier ;  all  on  an  equal  po- 
litical footing,  deliberating  together  for  the 
common  good.  They  paid  the  closest 
attention  to  the  speech  of  the  Landam- 
mann,  who,  as  he  advanced  and  warmed 
up  to  his  theme,  departed  more  and  more 
from  pure  German,  and  lapsed  into  the 
familiar  dialect,  which  was  used  by  every 
subsequent  speaker. 

As  soon  as  this  speech  had  been  brought 
to  a  close,  a  ceremony  of  the  utmost  solem- 
nity took  place. 

The  whole  Assembly  rose,  and  stood, 
bareheaded,  for  some    moments   in   silent 


SELF-GOVERNMENT.  1 69 

prayer,  —  an  impressive  incident,  never  to 
be  forgotten :  the  sudden  silence  of  the 
multitude,  the  heads  bared  to  the  sky,  and 
the  deeply  religious  aspect  of  the  whole 
thing.  After  this  the  business  of  the  meet- 
ing began. 

Every  one  knew  that  a  measure  of  great 
importance  would  be  presented  to  the 
Assembly  that  day ;  in  fact,  nothing  less 
than  the  adoption  of  a  new  constitution. 

The  old  one  had  been  found  to  be  both 
cumbersome  and  antiquated,  and  the  new 
one  had  been  framed  with  a  view  toward 
simplification,  so  that  it  might  correspond 
more  closely  to  those  of  the  other  cantons. 
As  the  project  had  been  before  the  people 
for  some  time,  ample  opportunity  had  been 
given  them  to  make  themselves  thoroughly 
acquainted  with  its  provisions,  and  the  As- 
sembly was,  therefore,  prepared  to  discuss 
the  proposed  changes  intelligently. 

A  strong  minority  from  the  Valley  of 
Urseren,  where  lies  the  popular  summer 
resort  of  Andermatt,  opposed  the  new  con- 


170    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

stitution,  especially  on  account  of  certain 
clauses,  referring  to  the  management  of 
roads.  These  views  were  represented  by 
five  speakers,  whereas  the  majority  put  for- 
ward nine.  After  an  animated  debate, 
lasting  for  two  hours  and  a  half,  a  vote 
was  taken  upon  the  question  of  adopting 
a  new  constitution,  pure  and  simple,  adop- 
tion being  carried  by  the  bare  majority  of 
three-fifths  to  two-fifths  of  the  votes.  An- 
other vote  was  taken,  this  time  upon  the 
adoption  of  the  new  constitution  as  it  stood 
or  as  amended  by  the  minority,  and  resulted 
in  the  almost  unanimous  adoption  of  the 
constitution  as  it  stood. 

The  voting  was  done  by  a  show  of 
hands,  according  to  the  old  Teutonic 
custom,  so  familiar  to  us;  but  it  was 
accompanied  by  a  curious  sound,  which 
seemed  in  imitation  of  the  bellowing  of 
a  bull,  the  inevitable  bull  of  Uri.  An 
appeal  in  writing  against  the  new  con- 
stitution was  then  handed  to  the  Land- 
esstatthalter,   based    upon    the   forty-third 


i 


SELF-GOVERNMENT.  171 

article  of  the  federal  constitution,  and  the 
Assembly  proceeded  to  the  next  order  of 
business,  the  election  of  officers. 

First  came  the  seven  Regicrimgsrdthe ; 
literally,  "  councillors  of  the  Government," 
forming  a  sort  of  executive  board.  In 
only  two  cases  was  there  any  serious 
opposition  to  the  candidate  nominated; 
for  it  seems  to  be  customary  in  this 
conservative  little  democracy  to  reelect 
officers  who  have  done  their  work  sat- 
isfactorily, rather  than  experiment  with 
untried  ones.  The  result  of  every  elec- 
tion was  announced  by  the  head  beadle, 
or  crier  {Landesweibel),  who  raised  his 
cocked  hat,  and  repeated  a  set  formula, 
wishing  the  successful  candidate  "  joy  and 
health"  {Gliick  imd  Heit). 

At  this  juncture  the  Assembly  was  asked 
to  choose  the  Landammann  and  the  Land- 
esstatthalter  from  the  number  of  the 
Regierungsrathe.  Immediately  the  actual 
Landammann  rose  and  resigned  his  office 
in  a  speech  in  which  he  declared  that  he 


172    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

had  served  four  years  as  magistrate,  and 
therefore  declined  reelection.  At  the 
same  time  he  proposed  the  actual  Land- 
esstatthalter  as  his  successor,  and  with 
this  took  his  seat  amongst  the  people. 
The  Assembly  followed  his  suggestion  as  to 
his  successor,  and  afterwards  returned  the 
Landammann  himself  to  the  office  of  Land- 
esstatthalter ;  so  that  the  two  highest  officers 
had  in  the  end  only  exchanged  places. 

After  the  oath  had  been  administered 
to  them,  the  necessary  representatives  to 
the  federal  Legislature  in  Bern  were 
elected,  and  then  a  number  of  minor 
officers  of  the  canton.  As  a  last  piece 
of  legislation,  the  rights  of  citizenship 
{Biirgerrechi)  were  granted  to  a  family 
which  had  lately  immigrated  from  the 
canton  of  Unterwalden. 

With  this  the  order  of  business  Avas  com- 
plete, and  the  Assembly  adjourned.  The 
session  had  lasted  four  hours  and  a  half, 
when  the  procession  marched  back  to  Alt- 
dorf  in  the  same  order  in  which  it  had 
arrived. 


XX. 

HOEING  POTATOES. 

ALL  the  valleys  hushed,  the  lakes 
black.  A  mist  in  the  hollows, 
smelling  moist  and  tasting  smoky. 

Then,  on  the  top  of  the  Jungfrau,  a 
sudden  gleam  alighted.  The  sun  crept 
down  the  great  aretes,  —  those  arms  of 
the  goddess,  draped  in  muslin.  It  bur- 
nished the  rounded  snow  slopes  into  rich 
saffron,  and  cast  mauve  shadows  into  the 
seracs  and  crevasses.  The  light  chased 
the  gloom  from  the  abyss,  where  the 
avalanches  fall,  —  that  lap  of  the  goddess. 
It  stripped  the  darkness  from  her  sheer 
sides. 

With  this,  the  virgin  seemed  to  wake, 
and  stretch,  and  smile. 

She  saw  two  women  with  a  child,  hoeing 
potatoes  on  the  Almend  of  Unterseen. 
They  were  dressed  partly  in  brown  home- 
173 


174    LITTLE    IDYLS    OF    THE    BIG    WORLD. 

spun,  partly  in  nondescript  calicoes.  Their 
feet  stood  in  great  ungainly  shoes,  with 
wooden  soles.  The  grandmother  still 
wore  her  hair  twined  with  white  braid, 
Oberland  fashion,  but  the  young  woman 
tried  to  be  modern.  As  for  the  child,  it 
played  in  the  dirt. 

And  so  the  women  toiled,  unmindful  of 
the  magnificence  of  their  surroundings. 

The  Jungfrau  saw  the  turquoise  of  the 
lake  of  Thun,  the  glowing  slopes  of 
St.  Beatenberg,  the  green-black  firs  on 
the  Harder.  She  heard  a  man  sharp- 
ening his  scythe  among  the  field-flowers, 
a  boy  yodeling  to  his  goats  in  the  shrubs, 
a  herd  of  cows  jingling  their  bells  on  the 
summer  pasture.  She  smelt  the  mown 
grass,  the  briar  hedges  nipped  by  the 
goats,  the  flowers  trodden  by  the  cattle. 

But  the  women  neither  saw,  nor  heard, 
nor  smelt. 

At  noon  the  Jungfrau  looked  again. 
The  grandmother  was  leaning  for  a  mo- 
ment on  her  hoe,  the  young  woman  worked 


HOEING    POTATOES.  I  75 

in  a  crude  red  petticoat,  blown  by  the 
wind,  the  child  still  played  in  the  dirt. 
They  all  looked  sordid,  sullen,  stupid. 

Then  the  pitying  Virgin  turned  to 
Mount  Blanc,  full  eighty  miles  away. 
How  long  must  these  wrongs  be  ^  But 
before  the  answer  came,  the  day  was 
over,  and  the  women  shuffled  sadly  home- 
ward, drawing  their  cart  after  them, 
wherein  the  little  girl  sat,  holding  tight 
to  the  sides. 

And  for  the  millionth  time  the  Jungfrau 
blushed,  and  then  turned  gray  and  slept. 


THE    END. 


B     000  002  826     6 


